


pills n potions (we're overdosin')

by indragram



Series: we can't choose our fate [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, HPAU, Hogwarts AU, Mentions of past abuse, also if you squint there is some braven, and lexa is a poor ravenclaw bby who needs a hug, clarkes a stubborn slytherin shit, some might call it graphic, there is some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-28
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-01 16:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4026676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indragram/pseuds/indragram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke hates a lot of things, but most of all, she hates how she just had to be paired with such a stupid Ravenclaw know-it-all for every damn piece of work in this godforsaken dungeon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. intro

**Author's Note:**

> i was asked for a clexa hogwarts au, hope this doesn't disappoint
> 
> kinda wanna continue this, but that'll have to wait until my exams have finished

Clarke grumbles to herself under her breath as she stirs her potion.

 

Three clockwise, one anticlockwise.

 

_Three clockwise, one anticlockwise._

 

_Three clockwise, one -_

 

“You’re doing it wrong.” A voice chimes in from behind her. Clarke ignores the voice, because she knows that she isn’t doing it wrong. How can she be? It’s just stirring. Stupid, repetitive stirring.

 

Clarke hates Potions.

 

She hates how vital Potions is to a career as a healer.

 

She really hates the fact that, without completing her qualification in it, she would have absolutely no chance of being considered for a job in medicine.

 

Most of all, she hates how she just _had_ to be paired with such a stupid Ravenclaw know-it-all for every damn piece of work in this _godforsaken_ dungeon. 

 

_Stupid_ Lexa who thinks she’s always right and always tries to take complete control of every damn project as though Clarke isn’t capable of doing it herself, despite the fact that she _evidently_ is, given that she hasn’t received anything less than an _Outstanding_ in any of her classes for the past _two years_ , and this potion really shouldn’t be smoking, why is it doing that-

 

Clarke jumps back with a squeak as the acrid smoke billows out of the cauldron, mixed with burning lumps of her - now ruined - potion.

 

The cauldron bursts and Clarke is yanked backwards, away from the splash radius.

 

She can hear Lexa muttering something about ‘ _stupid Slytherins’_ under her breath, which is _not fair_ , because if Lexa hadn’t distracted her then she _would_ have been paying attention to her potion, instead of thinking about ways to remove the stick from up of Lexa’s ass, and none of this would’ve happened.

 

Clarke turns around to tell Lexa just this, but no words escape, because Lexa is _bleeding_ and -  _oh God -_  this is all Clarke’s fault.

 

Lexa starts swaying slightly on her feet and Clarke swears, diving forwards to catch Lexa before she hits the floor. 

 

And, _shit_ , Lexa is heavier than Clarke thought she would be, but Clarke needs to get her to Medical because who knows what that stupid potion could do to her, and she’s still bleeding, and Clarke should probably - definitely - stop that.

 

Clarke manages to get Lexa to the bench that's placed against the wall, and draws her wand, muttering a quick spell (one of the many medicinal charms her mum had taught her) which _should_ stop the bleeding long enough for Clarke to get her to the Medical wing.

 

That done, Clarke conjures up a stretcher, and, with the help of a couple of the other students in the class - who had finally stopped panicking long enough to realise that the world didn’t consist _solely_ of them - she manages to get the Ravenclaw girl onto the stretcher.

 

Octavia is never going to let her live this down.

 

//

 

It’s later, much later, and Clarke is still in the Medical wing, and Lexa is _still_ sleeping, and, despite constant reassurances that Lexa would make a complete recovery, that there was nothing permanently wrong with the girl, Clarke refused to leave her side until she had woken up.

 

Clarke may dislike the girl, but she wants to apologise, because, in the end, this was _mainly_ Clarke’s fault, and let it never be said that Clarke doesn’t admit when she’s in the wrong. 

 

And Clarke knows that - though Lexa is _partly_ to blame - maybe she should’ve listened to the girl instead of just ignoring everything she said, because, no matter how much Clarke protests, they are still ‘partners’, and each potion they make is a bit of _both_ of their grades, so really Clarke should let her participate instead of just getting her to chop the ingredients.

 

Besides, the professor had given them both two weeks worth of detention, so Clarke figures she should make peace with the other girl, if only so that the detentions aren't completely unbearable.

 

A groan from the girl on the bed immediately pulls Clarke out of her thoughts, and she focuses back in on Lexa, who is finally waking up.

 

“Hey.” She mumbles, wondering how much of the incident Lexa remembers. She knows that head injuries can be tricky. She’s seen times first hand - and heard of many tales through her mother - when the patient loses memory due to a head wound.

 

“Clarke,” The Ravenclaw responds, softly. Which is weird, because Clarke has never heard her speak in a way that isn’t completely formal. Then Lexa stiffens, eyes darting around as she takes in her surroundings. “Why am I in the Medical wing?”

 

Clarke smiles ruefully, rubbing the back of her neck. “Well, you see-”

 

“What did you do?” Lexa cuts her off, brow furrowed. The effect of it is slightly dimmed by the bandage, which is wrapped tightly around her forehead. Noticing the direction of Clarke’s gaze, Lexa reaches a hand up, and she frowns more when she comes into contact with the material. She sits straight up, then groans, and the blonde quickly eases her back into a lying down position.

 

“Yeah, so you should probably not do that.” Clarke advises her.

 

Lexa glares at her.

 

“ _What_ -” The injured girl growls, jaw clenched, “- did you do?”

 

“What makes you think I did anything?” Clarke asks, slightly offended that Lexa is so quick to jump to conclusions. Though, alright, if Clarke hadn’t done anything then she definitely wouldn’t be here, so maybe the other girl isn’t reaching _too_ far. Lexa raises an eyebrow, and, _Merlin_ , if looks could kill. “Right. Yeah.” Clarke chuckles awkwardly. “So we were making our potion, and I was stirring it while you prepped the ingredients, then you leaned over and told me I was stirring it wrong, and obviously you were just being rude, because I was doing _exactly_ what the recipe asked me to do-” The Ravenclaw girl snorts derisively, and Clarke’s cheeks burn, “ _I was_. But anyway, you distracted me, so I stopped stirring, and the next thing I knew the potion was exploding and you were collapsing.”

 

Lexa takes a second to absorb the information.

 

“So what I’m getting here is-” She begins, leaning back on her pillow and staring at the ceiling. “I tried to help you, but you were your usual stubborn ass of a self, and refused to listen, so now I’m injured, and we _both_ failed the potion.”

 

“We also got two weeks worth of detentions,” Lexa groans, covering her eyes with her forearm. “ _But_ , we didn’t fail the potion. It was just a practise session anyway, so the Professor said that it doesn’t really matter...?” Clarke ends up phrasing her sentence as a question.

 

“Thank Merlin,” The Ravenclaw girl deadpans. “Another chance for you to make an attempt on my life.”

 

Well _that’s_ not fair, because Clarke didn’t actually intend to hurt Lexa, it just happened.

 

Clarke figures that if Lexa is going to be such a pain in her ass, then she might as well just leave, but the blonde doesn’t want to leave Lexa alone, so she asks, “Now you’re up I think I’m going to go.” The brunette doesn’t respond. “Do you want me to get anyone for you? Maybe I can get a friend of yours to get some stuff from your dorm, since you have to stay in here overnight?”

 

Lexa immediately closes up.

 

“No.”

 

Clarke is a bit taken back by the bite in her tone, but perseveres, “You sure? I wouldn’t mind grabbing them for you-”

 

“I don’t have any.”

 

Clarke doesn’t know how to respond to that.

 

Lexa laughs derisively. “Yeah, no one wants to be friends with the daughter of two of the biggest death eaters out there.” She clenches her jaw. “Doesn’t matter if I don’t agree with any of their beliefs, or if I haven’t spoken to either of them in nearly twelve years.”

 

“Lexa-” Clarke reaches an arm out as an offer of support, but the other girl moves away.

 

“I don’t want your pity, Clarke.”

 

Before Clarke can do anything else, she is ushered out of the room, as visiting hours are up and she needs to get back to her dorm before curfew.

 

Clarke vows to herself as she hurries along the corridor towards the dungeons that she will be Lexa’s friend. 

 

Nobody deserves to be alone because of the actions of their parents.

 

//

 

When she arrives in the Great Hall the next day for breakfast, her eyes dart over to the Ravenclaw table, looking for Lexa. The girl isn’t there, and Clarke sighs, dropping onto the bench next to Raven.

 

Bellamy grins at her from across the table.

 

“So what’s this I hear about you nearly killing your Potions partner?” He asks as he pours himself some pumpkin juice.

 

Raven smirks, elbowing Clarke in the side as she grabs an apple. “Wow, I knew you didn’t like the girl, but I didn’t know you’d go _that_ far.”

 

“I didn't try to kill Lexa.” Clarke defends herself, frowning. "And I don't _not_ like her."

 

Bellamy and Raven just laugh at the blonde.

 

“Sure, whatever you say, princess.”

 

Clarke groans, dropping her head so that her forehead bangs against the edge of the table.

 

She hates her friends.

 

//

 

Lexa didn’t appear at any point during breakfast, so, in the small break between eating and needing to be at her next class, Clarke rushes to the kitchens and asks the house elves to deliver some food to her in the hospital wing.

 

//

 

Clarke doesn’t have a Potions lesson that day, so her next chance to see the brunette is at dinner in the great hall. She’s running late, because Raven somehow manages to transform her desk into a fire breathing lizard, which quickly took refuge in front of the door and tried to burn anyone who came near. It took the teacher half an hour to reverse the spell, and everyone left for lunch fifteen minutes late and smelling slightly of smoke.

 

Everyone, that is, except for Raven, who was kept behind to fix the damage done to the room. 

 

When Clarke reaches the Great Hall, she quickly looks around for her friends.

 

Bellamy is sitting with Octavia and Lincoln, and they all seem to be having an intense debate. Bellamy has a carrot skewered on the end of his fork, and he’s waving it around, gesticulating, while Octavia just shakes her head at him.

 

Lexa is sitting alone at the end of the Ravenclaw table, head bowed low over her plate, and Clarke decides that she can put her ‘get Lexa to like me’ plan into action now, instead of during their detention after dinner.

 

The brunette looks up when Clarke slides onto the bench next to her, confused, but quickly ducks back down to look at her food, poking at it half heartedly with her cutlery.

 

“How’s your head?” 

 

“Hurts.” The brunette replies simply, not bothering to look up. Clarke reaches across the table to grab some chicken, dumping it on her plate. She’s glad not to be sitting with the Blakes, for once, because those two are _animals_ when it comes to food, and at least over here everything isn’t gone by the time she wants it.

 

“You don’t have to be here.” Lexa says, quietly.

 

“I know.” Clarke replies, because she does know that. She also knows that she’s going to become Lexa’s friend if it kills her, and really, the brunette should’ve figured out how stubborn she is by now. Clarke thought Ravenclaws were supposed to be intuitive or something.

 

“I told you I didn’t want your pity.” The brunette adds.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came over here because I wanted food, and since I was late, and Slytherins are all greedy shits, I figured I would have a better chance of getting some if I came over here.” Clarke reiterates her point by pouring gravy over her plate of chicken and roast vegetables. “Besides, I thought I should give you a heads up about detentions with Professor Green, since you’re a goody two shoes and probably have never gotten one before.” The blonde continues with a grin.

 

“I’ll have you know this isn’t my first detention, Clarke.”

 

The Slytherin girl raises her eyebrows. “Oh? I think you need to fill me in on this bad streak of yours, Lexa, I must have missed that.”

 

The edges of Lexa’s lips twitch up, and Clarke counts that as a point towards friendship with the other girl.

 

The first point of many, she hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, and reviews keep me motivated/let me know when i am doing something right so... :)
> 
> also, feel free to find me on tumblr @ indragram.tumblr.com


	2. i get high off your memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i caved and wrote this today instead of studying
> 
> chapter title from 'pills n potions' by nicki minaj

The dungeons are empty by the time Clarke and Lexa get there. 

 

This is understandable, as lessons are over for the day, and the only students likely to be milling around this area are the Slytherins (the other houses tend to avoid this place like the plague unless they have a lesson down here), but Clarke assumes that they are all either in the common room, or still in the great hall.

 

They also appear to be the only students with a detention, and Clarke reasons that this is because it is only the second week of term. Admittedly this is a new record for her, as her detentions usually start cropping up around Christmas time, when she is more focused on the upcoming holidays than class.

 

Growing up, Christmas day was always one of Clarke’s favourite days of the year, as it was one of the few times her parents could both take time off, and she would get to spend the whole day with them. After the death of her father, though, her mother started to take on more shifts. Clarke suspects that this was not just in an effort to make enough money to support them both, but also because she needed to keep her mind busy, so that she wouldn’t dwell on the past. And, truthfully, Clarke understands her mother’s need to keep herself busy at that time of the year, but it was hard for Clarke too. Clarke spent three Christmas days with no one but her dog for company before she met the Blakes, and she has spent the holidays with them ever since.

 

“Professor?” Lexa’s voice startles Clarke out of her train of thought. The brunette raises an eyebrow at her, but Clarke simply shakes her head in return. 

 

(She doesn’t want to talk about it.)

 

They hear a bang and the clattering of glass, which seems to be coming from the door behind the professor’s desk. Lexa and Clarke share a look of confusion, before making their way towards the door. Lexa walks briskly, angling herself so that she is between the blonde and the door. The brunette opens the door slowly, clearing her throat to announce their presence, and Clarke peers over her shoulder as the room is revealed. 

 

Clarke has to cough to cover up her laugh.

 

(Lexa tries to hide the way her muscles relax.)

 

“Lexa!” Professor Green exclaims, before noticing the blonde behind her. “And Clarke? Right, you’re here for the detention, you’re-” He trails off, glancing down at his watch. He has to briefly stop, to wipe pink goo off of it’s clockface, then straightens. “Right on time, sorry.”

 

He pulls out his wand, muttering a spell under his breath that neither of the girls are able to decipher, and the pink goo - which is plastered to almost every surface in the room - collects itself, before placing itself neatly into the silver pot on the bench.

 

Clarke’s jaw drops. 

 

“What spell is that, sir?” She asks, excitedly. A lot of her practise potions can go wrong - sometimes quite drastically - and a spell like that could save her heaps of time, which she would otherwise have to spend cleaning up with another, more laborious method. 

 

“It’s something Professor Miller came up with.” He replies, grinning broadly, before mumbling, “Ingenious.”

 

He doesn’t expand any further, and Clarke pouts. Lexa smiles softly at the overly exaggerated expression on Clarke’s face, but the expression doesn’t last long before her face is back to it’s normal, neutral facade.

 

(Clarke decides that it still counts as a smile.)

 

Professor Green tells them they should spend the detention rehashing their failed attempt at the potion they were supposed to make in class the day before. The potion they need to make is the _Draught of Living Death_ , and the professor tells them that it is one of the most deceptively difficult potions they will have to attempt this year.

 

Lexa immediately goes over to the store cupboard to procure the necessary ingredients, while Clarke sets up the cauldron and a couple of chopping boards, before opening up her copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ , so that she can reread the instructions.

 

The professor has disappeared back into the room he was in earlier, and Clarke takes a deep breath. This is the first time she’s really been alone with Lexa, and, if she’s being entirely honest with herself, she isn’t entirely sure how their time together will play out.

 

Clarke can count the things she knows about the other girl on one hand:

 

  * Lexa is in Ravenclaw
  * She’s smart
  * She hates her parents
  * And she’s really, _really_ pretty



 

“Clarke?” The blonde jumps slightly at the proximity of the voice. She had somehow missed Lexa returning from the store cupboard, her arms laden with jars and tubs and bottles.

 

Clarke pushes herself upright from where she had been leaning against the workbench. She quickly relieves Lexa of some of her load - which seems like an awful lot for just one potion - and deposits it on the bench.

 

“So,” She begins, swinging her arms awkwardly by her sides. 

 

Lexa puts the rest of the ingredients on the worktop, behind the chopping boards, and raises an eyebrow. “Why did you only set up one cauldron?”

 

“Oh.” Clarke hadn’t thought to ask whether the other girl wanted to work together or not. “I, uh, I figured it would be better for us to work together, since that’s what we’ll be doing in class anyway, _and_ ,” She pauses, averting her eyes from the brunette. Clarke takes a deep breath. “And I’m not very good at potions, so I was hoping you would help me not blow it up this time.” She rushes out, all in one breath. 

 

“Oh.” Lexa looks slightly stunned, and Clarke’s cheeks feel hot. “Oh. Cool.”

 

“I mean, If you don’t want to, well, I can still set up-” 

 

“No!” The tops of Lexa’s ears are red. “No, it’s okay.”

 

A beat.

 

“So do you-”

 

“Should we-”

 

They both start at the same time. Clarke gestures for Lexa to continue.

 

“Do you want me to prepare the ingredients?” The brunette asks, fingers clenching around a Sopophorous Bean, which she had forgotten to put down on the bench with the rest of the stuff she had collected from the store cupboard.

 

“No, it’s okay, I can do it.” Clarke reassures her, smiling, before turning towards the bench.

 

Lexa steps forwards so that she is level with the blonde, “Maybe we should,” Clarke turns to look at her, and Lexa stops to swallow. “Maybe we should just do them together? It would be quicker that way.” She reasons, and Clarke nods.

 

“Yeah, okay.” She agrees, reaching forwards to grab a valerian root, placing it in the middle of her chopping board. “But do you think you could do the Sopophorous beans? Last time I tried to cut one up, I almost lost a finger.”

 

//

 

“The trick is to squish them with the silver knife.” Lexa later explains, grabbing her knife so that she can demonstrate. 

 

“I never would’ve thought of that.” Clarke admits as Lexa drains the juice off of her board and into a small vial.

 

“A friend of mine told me it was easier this way.” Clarke doesn’t notice the way the other girl’s breath hitches when she mentions her friend, she’s too absorbed in stirring the potion, doing the exact motions Lexa had shown her a few minutes ago.

 

“Cool.” The blonde replies absentmindedly as she slowly adds the liquid from the vial Lexa has handed her. 

 

Clarke grins to herself as the potion turns the perfect shade of blue.

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_I miss you. Classes are the same as they always are, just a lot more difficult, as you warned me they would be. I was in the hospital wing yesterday, but don’t worry, it was just a minor incident; that girl I told you about, Clarke, managed to make our potion explode. She’s apologised, and sat with me during dinner today, before we had to go to our detention. The detention was, surprisingly, not terrible. We were civil, and I hope we can remain so throughout the rest of the year, or else Potions will be unbearable._

 

_School isn’t the same without you._

 

_Lexa_

 

//

 

“So you looked pretty cosy with the ice queen at dinner.” Bellamy grins, throwing himself down into the armchair next to her. 

 

“Don’t call her that.” Clarke replies, not taking her eyes off of the parchment in front of her. She’s making notes about how she made the potion earlier, as all of Lexa’s small alterations to the original instructions had made the potion ‘perfect’ - according to Professor Green - and she needed to be able to replicate it should the potion come up in their end of year exam.

 

“Jeeze, princess, I’m only joking.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Clarke begins, ending the sentence she’s on with a rather vicious full stop, “It isn’t funny.”

 

“Okay, I was just wondering when you’d become friends with her.” He defends himself, leaning back in his chair and propping his feet up on the footrest in front of him. “Did you decide that royalty should stick together?” He asks, grinning smugly at his joke.

 

Clarke grits her teeth and waves her wand, making the chair Bellamy’s sitting on slide across the room, away from her. 

 

He just laughs.

 

//

 

This routine continues for the next three days.

 

Clarke will eat dinner with Lexa, and after that they head off for their detention together. During the detention they go over the potion they made in class, and Clarke will make notes about Lexa’s method.

 

Clarke hasn’t learnt anything new about the other girl - other than the fact that she is incredibly talented at Potions - and they haven’t spoken outside of the great hall and the dungeons. 

 

Clarke’s friends ask her about her relationship with Lexa, but all the blonde says is that they’re friends, and that the other girl is helping her improve her Potions grade. 

 

If there’s one thing her entire friendship group can agree on, it’s that Clarke should not be trusted within a metre of a cauldron. Indeed, Clarke’s lack of prowess when it comes to the making of various potions has long been a source of amusement for the group. Bellamy in particular finds her failure in the subject funny, as it’s one of the few she hasn’t been able to beat him in. 

 

The only reason Clarke had been able to pull out a good enough grade to be allowed to continue Potions to her sixth year was because over half of the marks in her exam came from the written paper, rather than the practical, and Clarke excels in written theory. 

 

Theory is just remembering things, and Clarke has been blessed with an incredible memory, which makes the majority of her subjects - in particular, History of Magic - ridiculously easy. 

 

It means that Clarke needs to study less than the average student, which is great, but it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t need to study at all, which her friends don’t seem to get. They had decided to have a tournament of wizard chess on the table next to Clarke as she tried to learn all the facts she would need for her exam tomorrow, and it got very loud, which is why she finds herself heading off to the library, of all places, late on Sunday afternoon.

 

She heads past the front desk, weaving easily through the towering shelves, and makes her way towards the quiet study area, which is, essentially, just a huge room filled with a lot of tables and chairs. One of the walls is made up entirely of floor to ceiling windows, which frame a view over the lake. Clarke finds the open view very calming, and the room has an imposed silence, which practically everyone keeps to - mainly because the only people who come to this room are people who _actually_ want to study, but that’s not the point.

 

Clarke has done some of her best work in this room.

 

She thinks, however, that today might be a little less productive than usual, as her eyes catch sight of a familiar brunette hunched over some books, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. 

 

Clarke’s legs carry her over to the girl of their own accord.

 

(Or at least, that’s what Clarke tells herself.)

 

Lexa looks up when the blonde pulls out a chair for herself, and her eyes soften.

 

“Hey Clarke.” She greets, reaching over to clear some of the books off of the table, neatly stacking them at the foot of her chair so that there is room for Clarke to put her work.

 

Clarke is slightly surprised, as she hadn’t expected Lexa to be this welcoming, but she takes it all in her stride.

 

“Hey.” She replies, grinning. Clarke pulls her notes and a couple of relevant books out of her back, and places them on the table in front of her. She manages to fit in a whole five minutes of focused note reading before her eyes begin to wander over to the other girl at the table. Lexa’s brow is furrowed, and her bottom lip is held between her teeth. She has one hand on a book, holding it open, and her gaze keeps flicking between the open book and her parchment, which is steadily being filled with her clean handwriting, which somehow manages to stay in orderly lines. Clarke looks down at her own notes. Her work is messy, and covered in ink splashes and smudges, and the top right hand corner of the first page is burnt off (which is entirely Raven’s fault).

 

Clarke can’t focus, and so, in true Slytherin fashion, she decides to disrupt Lexa’s focus as well. 

 

She leans over and whispers, “Lexa.”

 

The girl frowns and looks up, leaving the nib of her quill hovering over her notes.

 

“Yes, Clarke?” Lexa sounds exasperated, which the blonde decides is unfair, as this is literally the _first_ time she has disrupted the brunette, and not the fourth or fifth, as Lexa’s tone would suggest. 

 

“Whatcha studying?” Clarke asked, tilting her head in an attempt to read the book the other girl has open.

 

“History of Magic.” The brunette replies, refocusing on her work.

 

“Cool.” Clarke replies, smiling. “Same.”

 

Lexa nods, but doesn’t look back up.

 

Clarke huffs and goes back to staring at her notes, willing the information to just implant itself in her brain. The scratch of Lexa’s quill against her parchment fades into the background.

 

Some time later - Clarke isn’t really sure how long, as she got slightly lost in her head - the brunette starts to pack up. 

 

“Are you coming to the great hall, Clarke?” Lexa asks, once all of her papers have been neatly stacked and put in her bag, and the books are piled on the table, ready to be put away.

 

Clarke smiles, “I think I’m going to stay here for a bit, so I can get a bit more done.”

 

“Okay, I will see you later.” The brunette turns to leave without waiting for a response.

 

“ _Bye_.” Clarke mumbles, though she knows Lexa won’t hear her.

 

//

 

“Shit.”

 

Clarke is jumping down the steps, two at a time.

 

“ _Fuck_.” The portraits look on disapprovingly as she skids around the corner, powering her way towards the spiral staircase that leads down into the dungeon.

 

Clarke is late. She got so caught up in her studying - which went strangely well after Lexa had left - that she forgot to go down to the great hall to get dinner, and by the time she had remembered that she had places to be, the was already five minutes late for her detention. Clarke respects Professor Green a lot - he had really helped her get through the syllabus last year - so she _really_ doesn’t want to get on his bad side this early on in the year. 

 

And her stomach hurts.

 

She can see Lexa through the open doorway and slows down, trying to catch her breath so that she isn’t panting when she gets inside.

 

Lexa looks up as she walks through the door, and her face is scrunched, but the muscles seem to instantly relax when she sees Clarke. The blonde smiles at her.

 

“Hey, is the Prof here yet?” Clarke questions, looking around as she settles into her seat next to the Ravenclaw girl, who shakes her head. “Oh, phew. I got caught up studying, completely forgot I had a detention.” She continues, grinning.

 

“Yeah, I- Well, I saw you weren’t in the great hall, so,” Lexa pauses, reaching into her bag. “I brought you some food.” She finishes quietly, thrusting the box she had just pulled out at Clarke.

 

The blonde opens the box immediately, grinning widely at the selection of food. Clearly Lexa has noticed how much Clarke likes to eat. 

 

Clarke can’t help but feel warm at the thought of Lexa packing up a box of food for her.

 

“Thanks, Lex, you’re the best.” She responds, before picking up a roast potato and biting into it, groaning at the taste. 

 

Clarke doesn’t notice the blush that spreads across the brunette’s cheeks, she’s too engrossed in devouring her food.

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_Clarke came and sat with me in the library today. I’m not convinced she did much studying, as she seemed to just be staring blankly at her notes and/or daydreaming for the majority of the time. She didn’t come to dinner today though, and I sat alone. I brought her some food and she ate it during our detention. She may not have said anything, but I know it was her who send me food while I was in the hospital, there’s no one else it could’ve been, not now that you aren’t here. I think I will do well in my test tomorrow._

 

_I’ll write again soon,_

 

_Lexa_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed, wonder if you spotted any of the hints of angst to come/ angst that has already happened
> 
> follow me on tumblr for updates and flailing @ indragram.tumblr.com


	3. you make me feel like I am young again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how i feel about this chapter tbh
> 
> chapter title from 'love song' by adele

Clarke goes to the library again the next day. She has a free period after lunch and none of her friends do, so she figures she should make use of the little quiet time she has. And yes, maybe she want’s to see if Lexa’s there too, but that’s not her main focus, because she has a potions essay due in a little over an hour. But Clarke actually really needs some help on it, so she think’s it wouldn’t be a bad thing if Lexa happened to be around. 

 

Lexa’s sitting in the same place she was yesterday, her lithe body hunched over a piece of parchment, and there are books scattered all over the surface of the table. She looks up as Clarke approaches the table, and grabs her wand. A flick of her wrist has the books collecting themselves and forming an orderly pile, which Lexa moves to the side, creating space for Clarke to sit.

 

“Hi Lexa.” Clarke greets with a grin, flopping down onto the empty chair next to the brunette. “Whatcha working on?”

 

Lexa flips the book she has open back to it’s cover, and nods at the title. “I’m just reading the next chapter for Transfiguration.”

 

Clarke grins and leans forwards onto her elbows, “You’re such a nerd, Lex.”

 

The brunette blushes, “There’s nothing wrong with being prepared, Clarke.” She replies haughtily, opening the book back up to the page she had been on previously.

 

“I’m kidding, Lex.” The blonde laughs, leaning over and nudging Lexa’s shoulder gently with her fist. Lexa doesn’t acknowledge her, and Clarke grins. “Hey Lexa?”

 

The brunette hums in response, not looking up from the book.

 

(Clarke’s pretty sure that Lexa’s just rereading the same sentence over and over again.)

 

“Have you done the Potions essay for Green?”

 

Lexa nods.

 

Clarke pulls out her essay from her bag and places it on the desk. She smooths it out, trying to get rid of the creases that have come from it being stuffed into her bag earlier. 

 

It’s supposed to be a page and a half long. She’s written one paragraph so far.

 

Clarke glances over at the brunette, then back to her work. She huffs, picking up her quill and dipping it in her jar of ink. The nib hovers over her work as she quickly rereads the paragraph she has already written. She adds in a full stop that she had forgotten last night.

 

Clarke manages to write another sentence before she stops again. She looks back over at Lexa, whose eyes quickly dart back down to her book. The book that, Clarke notices with a smile, is still on the same page it was five minutes ago. Clarke stares at Lexa, and her grin widens when she realises that the brunette’s cheeks are flushed red, but Lexa doesn’t look back up.

 

The blonde opens up her Potions book, fingers drumming on the table as she rereads the passage that is supposedly relevant to her essay. Clarke thinks that the professors just open the books at random. Maybe they pick a passage out of a hat. 

 

Clarke chuckles softly to herself, maybe they pick it out of a cauldron. 

 

“Clarke!” Lexa hisses in a hushed voice, and the blonde blinks.

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“Can you stop tapping your fingers? It’s really distracting.”

 

“Oh.” Clarke lifts her fingers off of the desk and moves her hand so that it’s resting against her leg instead of the table. “Sorry.” 

 

She looks back down at her essay.

 

A few minutes later though, Clarke finally admits defeat. She can’t write an essay when she has no idea what she’s supposed to writing about. Even she’s not that good at bullshitting.

 

“Lex?” The brunette sighs and looks up, raising an eyebrow at the blonde. “Do you think you could help me with this essay?”

 

“I’m not going to write it for you, Clarke.”

 

Clarke grins, “Okay.”

 

//

 

“Thanks, Lex.” Clarke says, waving her parchment in an attempt to get the ink to dry quicker. “Have I told you you’re the best?”

 

Lexa grumbles, looking resolutely at the book in front of her.

 

“Do you want to go outside? It’s really sunny today.” Clarke suggests, slowly.

 

Lexa looks up, briefly glancing out of the windows at the grounds, before shaking her her head, “I really need to finish this chapter.”

 

Clarke grins, flicking her wand. The book Lexa was looking at snaps closed, and flies off towards the bookshelves along with the rest of the pile on the table. Lexa’s head snaps up, eyes quickly finding the blonde, but Clarke has already stowed her wand back in her robes.

 

“Was that you?” Lexa asks, gaze narrowed suspiciously.

 

Clarke smiles and shrugs her shoulders. “Guess the books don’t want you to study either.” The blonde jumps up, shouldering her bag, “C’mon Lex, the weather’s so good today. I promise I’ll let you study tomorrow.”

 

Lexa sighs, and Clarke grins.

 

//

 

Clarke leads Lexa to a small patch of grass that overlooks the lake, before flopping onto her back.

 

“What are you doing, Clarke?” Lexa asks, shifting awkwardly on her feet as she stares at the blonde. 

 

“Haven’t you ever done any cloud gazing?”

 

Lexa’s brow furrows, “What’s that?”

 

Clarke sits up with a start. “You- you’ve never done cloud gazing?” Lexa shakes her head and Clarke huffs, reaching over to tug at the brunette’s arm.

 

Lexa stumbles, then frowns at Clarke once she’s righted herself.

 

“Lexa, for this to work I’m going to need you to lie down.” Lexa blushes, and suddenly Clarke’s cheeks feel hot too. “I didn’t mean it like- Oh just _sit_.” Clarke tugs more forcefully on the brunette’s arm, and Lexa finally allows herself to be guided onto the grass beside Clarke.

 

“So,” Lexa begins, wriggling in an attempt to get more comfortable - the grass pressing against her back isn’t a sensation she’s used to. “What am I supposed to do?”

 

“Just look at the clouds. See what shapes they make.”

 

Lexa doesn’t think that this is going to be a particularly interesting and/or fun activity. She sighs, “That one looks like a cloud.”

 

“Lex,” Clarke sighs, shifting onto her side to face the brunette, “This is only fun if you actually try to be creative.”

 

“Clarke all I see are clouds.” She drops her head back and closes her eyes. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m not trying to ruin this for you.”

 

“You’re not.” Clarke replies quickly, “Just, _look_.” The blonde shifts closer to Lexa, settling on her back, and grabbing her hand. Lexa’s eyes snap open. “That one there looks kinda like a dragon, don’t you think?” Lexa’s palm feels too hot, she doesn’t respond. Clarke moves her hand so that she’s pointing at the cloud, bringing Lexa’s with her. “See? There’s the head,” She outlines the front end of the cloud, which Lexa has to admit has dragon like qualities, if a little blurred around the edges. “And there’s it’s body,” She makes a sweeping circle with their joined hands, “Legs,” Four short gestures. “And it’s tail.” A long flick.

 

Lexa’s about to say something when Clarke gently intertwines their fingers together, bringing their arms down so that they rest between them on the grass. Lexa’s words catch in her throat.

 

“See?” Clarke probes, and Lexa nods, because she doesn’t trust her voice to work properly right now. Clarke grins, “Okay, your turn now.”

 

Lexa clears her throat. “Uhh,” She quickly scans the sky. “That one kinda looks like a broomstick?” She says, gesturing towards a cloud off to her right.

 

Clarke tilts her head to the side and closes one eye. “Yeah, I can see it.” She replies, squeezing Lexa’s hand and grinning at her.

 

A small smile graces the brunette’s lips momentarily, before she bites her lip in an - unfortunately successful, in Clarke’s opinion - attempt to suppress it. “Okay.” Lexa exhales, “Your turn.”

 

(Neither of them acknowledges the fact that they’re still holding hands.

 

Neither wants the other to let go.)

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_Clarke came to the library again today. I helped her with her Potions essay. I may have written most of it, but I at least tried to make sure that she understood what I was writing. After that, she made me go out into the grounds, and where we were ‘cloud gazing’. Have you ever done that before? I didn’t really understand it’s significance, but she enjoyed it. She held my hand. It felt nice. It reminds me of when you took me to the top of the astronomy tower and told me about all the different constellations, but it’s different, because the stars never change, and the clouds do. I guess you’re like a cloud, then, but I had always hoped you’d be like the stars._

 

_Lexa_

 

//

 

Clarke gets her essay back later in the week, and it has a green ‘O’ stamped across the top, and a note from the professor, telling her that he’s proud of her progress.

 

Clarke grins and pulls Lexa into a hug. The brunette stiffens immediately, but before Clarke has time to pull back and apologise for overstepping, two arms carefully wrap themselves around her waist. Clarke sinks into the warm embrace, murmuring a thank you into the crook of Lexa’s neck.

 

She carefully slides the sheet of paper between two books in her bag, so that it wouldn’t get crumpled during the rest of the day. She can’t wait to wave it in Bellamy’s face.

 

Clarke can’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

 

(Neither can Lexa.)

 

//

 

It’s the last day of Clarke and Lexa’s detentions with Professor Green, and they are sitting opposite each other in the great hall. Clarke’s telling Lexa about the time Raven ‘accidentally’ (Clarke still thinks it was on purpose) made all of the gnomes in her garden blow up.

 

“How did she even get a hold of those? Aren’t they only available in the muggle world?”

 

“I don’t even know!” Clarke exclaims, spearing a potato on her fork. “But, let me tell you, it was the last time my mum let her go anywhere near our garden.”

 

“Telling her about that time I accidentally killed your mum’s pride and joys, huh, princess?” Raven asks, sliding onto the bench next to Clarke. “Which was a _complete_ accident, I swear.” She finishes, raising her hands up defensively when Clarke turns to glare at her.

 

“You say that like you hadn’t been telling me all about those radio controlled explosives you had built over summer.”

 

“Okay, but, you didn’t like those weird little gnome shits either.”

 

“That doesn’t mean I wanted you to blow them up.” Clarke retorts, exasperated.

 

“You should’ve been more specific, princess.”

 

“Shut up.” Clarke glances back over at Lexa, who’s watching their interaction carefully, lips pursed.

 

Raven nudges Clarke, “You gonna introduce me to the girl you’ve been ditching us all for or what, princess?”

 

Clarke elbows her back, and mutters ‘ _behave_ ’ out of the side of her mouth. “Raven, Lexa. Lexa, Raven.” She gestures between them awkwardly.

 

Both of their gazes are narrowed as they size each other up.

 

Clarke clears her throat. “ _Okay_ ,” She quickly glances between the two of them. “So Lexa and I are going to go to our detention.”

 

Raven breaks her intense stare off to look back at the blonde. “Cool, so this is your last one, right?” Clarke nods. “Does that mean you’re going to go back to actually hanging out with us again? Bellamy says he misses your pouty face when he takes the last potatoes.” She finishes with a grin. 

 

“Shut up, Ray.”

 

“Your girlfriend’s leaving without you, by the way.”

 

“She’s not my-” Clarke begins, looking up, but stops when she sees that Raven is telling the truth, and Lexa is already at the doors. “Oh for- You’re a dick, Raven Reyes.” Clarke bites, stomping off quickly, hoping she can catch up to Lexa.

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Raven calls out to her retreating form. Clarke has to restrain herself from flipping her the middle finger. She really doesn’t need any more detentions right now.

 

“Lexa!” Clarke calls out as she rounds the corner, and the brunette slows down. Clarke’s panting slightly by the time she is level with Lexa. “Why’d you run off like that?” She reaches out to hold the other girl’s arm, but Lexa jerks backwards.

 

“Was she telling the truth?” Lexa’s words are harsh - cold - but her eyes give her away. They’re wide, and they have a slight sheen to them.

 

Clarke is confused. “What do you mean?”

 

“Are you just going to leave me after this? Act like we were never-” Lexa huffs. “Are you just going to go back to the way things were at the beginning of the year?”

 

“What?” Clarke blurts out. “No!” She exclaims, shaking her head vehemently. “ _No_. I swear Lexa, I wouldn’t do that.”

 

“Well,” The brunette exhales heavily. “Well, I don’t know, Clarke. You seemed pretty happy to be that way before we got these detentions. You didn’t even know me, but you were happy to-”

 

“That’s because you’re so good at Potions!” Clarke interrupts her. “My friends all tease me about how crap I am, and I- I guess I felt self conscious, because you were - _are_ \- obviously so much better than me, so I lashed out.” The blonde hangs her head, “It was really childish of me, and then I made that potion, and it exploded and I got you hurt, like, _hospital wing_ kind of hurt. And then we got these detentions, so we had to spend all this time together, and it gave me time to get to know you.” Clarke smiles at the brunette, and tentatively reaches forwards to hold her hand. Lexa lets her. “I got to know you, and you’re so kind, Lex. You’re such a great person, and I want to be your _friend_. I’m here for as long as you’ll have me, okay?” She finishes, squeezing the brunette’s hand.

 

Lexa swallows, and her green eyes quickly scan Clarke’s face, looking for any sign that this could be some type of manipulation.

 

She finds none.

 

“I shouldn’t have been so quick to-”

 

Clarke waves her off. 

 

Lexa clears her throat, “We should go.” She tugs on the blonde’s hand, turning to walk down the corridor towards the staircase that leads to the dungeons.

 

//

 

“Hey, Lex?” Clarke begins as they walk out of the dungeons an hour or so later. “Are you going to the match on Sunday?”

 

It’s the first match of the season on Sunday; Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Clarke’s excited because it means the Blake siblings are going to be playing against each other, so it will be an all out battle. Those kinds of matches are always the most fun to watch.

 

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Lexa replies slowly. 

 

“Oh,” The blonde deflates. “Okay, cool.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I was just gonna ask if you wanted to go together? I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, it’s just, I thought it would be fun to hang out when we weren’t-” The blonde rambles, cheeks slightly flushed.

 

“Studying, eating, or in a detention?” Clarke nods, pouting slightly. Lexa huffs. “I can come, but I don’t have anything to wear.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Clarke placates her, grinning. “Meet me an hour before the game, I can sort you out.”

 

For a second, Lexa wonders if it’s normal to have this many butterflies in her stomach, but then, she’s never had a friend like Clarke before, so for all she knows, it is.


	4. won't you come on over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bang. i wrote a full chapter plan, should be 14 chapters whoop.
> 
> chapter title from 'valerie' by amy winehouse

“Clarke, are you sure this is necessary?” Lexa asks, holding up the green shirt that the blonde had given her at arm's length, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she examines it.

 

It has a deep green torso, showing support for the Slytherins in the upcoming match, and there’s a silver snake emblazoned across its front. The name “GRIFFIN” is printed in silver block capitals across the back above two large zeros.

 

“Yes.” Lexa sighs, then gestures wordlessly at the name across the back, and Clarke shifts on her feet, “Bellamy had a couple of things made for me.” She replies, unbuttoning her coat to show Lexa the jumper she’s wearing. It’s made of thick wool, the same green as the shirt, and has a silver band around the middle. A small, silver version of the Slytherin crest sits above the central band.

 

“I thought those were only for the players.” Lexa says, raising an eyebrow at the blonde.

 

Clarke shrugs, grinning, “Best friend privileges.” Then she pushes Lexa into a stall, “And change quickly, I need to paint your face before the game.”

 

Lexa groans.

 

How did she get herself into this?

 

//

 

Clarke has her back to the stall when the brunette emerges. Lexa clears her throat awkwardly, and the blonde spins around immediately. One side of her face is painted green, the other silver. 

 

(Lexa doesn't think that the face paint should enhance anyone's looks, so she doesn’t understand why her heart still races at the sight of the blonde.)

 

Lexa’s hands drop to fiddle with the bottom of her shirt, eyes tracing the tiles of the floor.

 

“Oh.” Lexa looks up quickly, and catches the blue eyes tracing her. She swallows heavily. “Okay,” Lexa mentally wonders why the blonde’s voice is higher than usual, but Clarke continues before she can spend much time questioning it. “Great. Now stay still, or I might poke you in the eye.”

 

“Why are you always trying to hurt me?”

 

“Shut up,” Clarke retorts, pushing the brunette’s shoulder. Lexa grabs it in fake agony, which makes Clarke snort, muttering ‘nerd’ under her breath.

 

//

 

“Okay,” Clarke begins slowly, and Lexa can feel the heat of her hands moving from her face. “You can look now.”

 

Lexa’s eyes flick open, and she finds herself staring at a somewhat threatening reflection of herself in the mirror. Dark green, almost black, paint is streaked across her eyes, the paint ending around her hairline, by her ears. It drips down her cheeks, and it’s thick, broad line accentuates her cheekbones. 

 

It’s unapologetically bold - _commanding_ \- and Lexa loves it.

 

“You like it?” Clarke asks, and she seems almost - nervous? 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa reaches out, gently taking one of Clarke’s hands. “It’s wonderful.” The edges of Clarke’s lips tilt up. “It really is, but we should go, otherwise we’ll be late.”

 

Clarke laughs (“I knew you were excited.”) then threads her fingers through Lexa’s, tugging the brunette along the corridor and out towards the Quidditch pitch. 

 

As they approach the stands, the air fills with chants, and Clarke smirks as the familiar words reach her ears. She can also make out Raven’s voice through the loudspeakers - through popular demand, Raven was appointed commentator for all school Quidditch matches, though there is always a teacher present to censor her should she get too rowdy - calling out the names of players.

 

She pulls Lexa through the mass of cheering people, all clad in shades of green and silver, towards the front of the stands. The crowd parts easily for her. 

 

Indra, the Quidditch coach and referee, flies up to the centre of the pitch with the Quaffle in hand. Murphy, the Slytherin co-captain and main chaser, and Finn, the Gryffindor captain, follow her. Clarke quickly pulls out her wand, casting a Sonorus charm, so that her voice could be heard over the crowd. 

 

“Who are we fighting for?” She asks, grinning as the rest of the Slytherin supporters immediately join in with the chant, calling out _“Slytherin! The ones who always win!”_

 

“Who are we fighting for?”

 

“ _Slytherin! We never let the quaffle in!”_

 

“Who?”

 

“ _Slytherin!”_

 

With that, Indra throws up the ball, and the crowd roars. 

 

//

 

“We’re in for another intense match today, folks. Not only are we looking at an age old Slytherin versus Gryffindor face off, but the Slytherin captain Bellamy Blake is facing his sister Octavia again, and we all know that the Blakes don’t like losing.” She grins as the crowd cheers in agreement. Last year’s match between the two had quickly turned bloody, with both Blakes urging their teams to do ‘whatever it takes’ to win. 

 

Gryffindor had won, just barely, and Bellamy had been practically inconsolable for at least a solid week afterwards. Octavia hadn’t helped matters much, and she took to bringing it up whenever the opportunity presented itself - if it didn’t, and she was particularly bored, she would just bring it up anyway, for the hell of it.

 

Everyone took to distancing themselves from the older Blake for a while.

 

“Murphy’s advancing on the goal, but he’s got Finn hot on his tail,” The Slytherin crowd groans as Murphy fumbles the ball, and the shot shoots off feebly towards the middle hoop. “And he sends the Quaffle straight into the hands of the keeper. Tough luck.” 

 

The Gryffindor keeper passes the ball off to Octavia, who passes it over the head of a sulking Murphy to Finn, and the pair speed down the pitch towards the Slytherin Goal.

 

“And the Lions are advancing into Slytherin territory,” Raven pauses as the jeers from the Slytherins get louder in response to the Gryffindor cheers. As they get within shooting distance, Finn passes the ball to Octavia before tapering off. “And Finn has passed it off to Octavia, Gryffindor’s lead goalscorer of last - Merlin! I don’t believe it, a Finbourgh Flick!” 

 

Instead of darting forwards to catch the Quaffle, Octavia jumps off of her broom, swinging it around and whacking the Quaffle towards the goal hoops. The Gryffindors cheer as the Quaffle soars through the open left hoop. 

 

“Ten points to Gryffindor! An incredible display of technique and class by Octavia Blake puts the Lions ahead.” Raven declares, grinning when Octavia blows her a kiss as she passes the commentating booth. “The Slytherins are going to have to up their game if they want to beat these guys, because it looks like Gryffindor are going to be pulling out all the stops.”

 

//

 

“Still no action from the ref, even if that was a _clear_ example of blagging at the hands of Gryffindor captain Finn Collins-” 

 

The microphone cuts off, and a muffled conversation is just barely audible through the speakers.

 

The Slytherin crowd are flinging insults at Finn and the referee, Indra, because he had _evidently_ grabbed the back of Murphy’s broom while he was on course to score, yet Indra had neglected to take any disciplinary action. Lexa grins at Clarke, who has been yelling viciously for the past minute or so. The brunette hasn’t been able to make out many of her words over the general roar of the crowd, but she’s fairly sure that Clarke has been threatening him with some fairly violent spells. 

 

The energy of the crowd is flowing through Lexa, filling her with passion for the game, and she feels warm from where her hand is still connected to Clarke’s. Lexa is opening her mouth, preparing to join in with the general noise of the people around her, when Raven’s voice reappears.

 

“And yet, despite that blatant favouritism-” She is cut off again. “ _Fine_. Scores are level at a hundred a piece.” She finishes in a monotonous voice, clearly displeased.

 

//

 

Slytherin win, but barely. 

 

Even with the 150 point bonus of being the team to catch the Snitch, leaving them with a total of three hundred and forty points, the Gryffindor team only trail by sixty points.

 

Of course, this doesn’t stop the Slytherin team from celebrating raucously, as though the Gryffindors had been beaten by hundreds of points, not sixty. This charge was led, naturally, by Bellamy, who made the team fly a couple of victory laps around the stadium. 

 

The red and gold banners of the opposite stands have been stowed away, and Clarke grins, sweeping Lexa up into a hug. Clarke grins into the warm skin of the brunette’s cheek.

 

Pulling away, Clarke beams at the pink that dusts Lexa’s cheeks. 

 

“You won.” Lexa murmurs.

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, just as softly. “Do you know what that means?”

 

Lexa raises an eyebrow.

 

Clarke laughs, _“Party!”_

 

//

 

Lexa’s drunk.

 

 _Correction,_ Lexa is incredibly drunk. 

 

Clarke isn’t quite sure how it happened, because the brunette had explicitly stated that she wouldn’t be drinking tonight, as it was her first party, and she didn’t want to be known as the hot mess (Clarke’s words, not hers) of the party.

 

Lexa likes control, so the blonde didn’t really question her desire to stay mainly sober that night. In all honestly, Clarke had been just glad that Lexa had even agreed to attend the party, and she figured it would have been pushing her luck to try and get the girl drunk as well. But she _had_ been wondering what kind of drunk the brunette would be.

 

Clarke found it funny to learn how different people could be under the influence of alcohol. 

 

Bellamy doesn’t change much when he’s drunk, he’s still ridiculously flirty and sexual, but he’s more prone to taking of his shirt when he’s drunk then he is sober. Clarke had found out that, if you got him drunk on the right stuff (a special type of mature mulled wine, brewed in Bulgaria), he tended to sit in a corner and go off on rants about Greek mythology to anybody willing to lend an ear.

 

When sober, Raven flirts with basically anyone with a working mouth, but she rarely takes it further then some harmless sexual innuendos and double entendres. When drunk, on the other hand, this filter disappears, and she just goes straight for a physical demonstration of her attraction. She has, on more than one occasion, asked Clarke if she wanted to go ‘somewhere private’. Clarke has yet to take her up on any of her offers.

 

In all honesty, Clarke hasn’t seen much of Octavia when she’s drunk, because when Octavia drinks, she tends to lead Lincoln off to the nearest place with a lockable door, and then she’s gone for the night. Clarke tries to stay as far away from the room they’ve locked themselves in as possible. She scarred herself once, and that was more than enough, thank-you-very-much, she doesn’t need to see that ever again. 

 

She shudders.

 

Clarke knows what she’s like drunk, mainly through word of mouth. When Clarke gets really drunk, so much so that she is not in control of her own actions anymore, she tends to get memory blanks. And, despite the fact that she chooses not to find these memories through the use of spells and potions, her _dear_ friends have no qualms with giving her a play-by-play of everything she did, no matter how much she protests.

 

From what she’s been told, she is rowdy. The real ‘life of the party’. She’s known for her willingness to participate in body shots - whether she is the one taking the shot or the body it’s being taken off of doesn’t seem to matter to her - and she readily joins in with any and all party games suggested, no matter how ridiculous.

 

(And no, Clarke isn’t going to elaborate on what some of these games were. She’s done what she can to scrub the images from her brain, and she’s not going to ruin that by bringing them up anymore than is absolutely necessary.)

 

But anyway, Lexa wasn’t planning on drinking much at all, and Clarke really isn’t ready to let Lexa see what a mess she is when drunk, so she’s remained (mostly) sober. 

 

And when Clarke turns around for a moment, scanning the room for her friends, she was expecting Lexa to have remained in the same place. After all, it is Lexa’s first party, and the brunette doesn’t _really_ know anyone here but Clarke, so it would make sense that Lexa would stay nearby, right?

 

At least, that is Clarke’s logic, and it’s the reason she’s so surprised when she turns around and realises that the seat the brunette had previously been sitting in is now empty. Clarke jerks her head back up, looking into the crowd again, but the bodies are too tightly packed in, and the music's too loud for her calling out to have much effect.

 

She groans dropping into the armchair Lexa had just vacated, because she figures it’ll be easier to just let the brunette find her way back, but if Lexa takes more than fifteen minutes, Clarke will choose a less, well, _passive_ method.

 

Clarke turns her gaze over to the drinks table, which is at the far end of the room. A few quiet words and a flick of her wand has a cup soaring over the heads of the crowd and into her open hand. She grins, taking a smug sip of the liquid; Clarke loves magic.

 

//

 

Two cups of punch and a couple of shots later - all courtesy of Raven, who had decided that Clarke was too sober, which was absolutely unacceptable - and Clarke is feeling buzzed. The edges of her vision are slightly fuzzy, and the back of her throat burns from the taste of the firewhiskey she’s just downed. 

 

“Damn, that shit’s hot.” Raven grins, grabbing the empty glass out of Clarke’s hand and shoving it and her own into the hands of a dopey looking fifth year - Clarke doesn’t really remember his name, it could’ve been Stan. Maybe Sterling? It’s definitely something beginning with an ‘s’ - before turning back to the blonde. “You drunk yet princess?”

 

Clarke laughs, “Not drunk enough to hook up with you, Rae.” 

 

Raven pouts dramatically. Giggling, Clarke obliges, leaning forwards and pecking her friend on the lips.

 

Raven grins, “Knew you couldn’t resist me, princess.” She winks at the blonde, then pauses, eyes flicking over Clarke’s shoulder. (Clarke figures Raven has found her ‘prey’ for the night.) “Duty calls, Clarkey. Catch you later.”

 

“Make sure you have some clothes on.” Clarke calls out at the brunette’s retreating form.

 

“No promises!” Is the response Raven shouts over her shoulder. 

 

Clarke smirks, sinking back into the armchair. 

 

Then she stops.

 

Shit.

 

_Lexa._

 

She’s just about to stand up and all but tear the party apart when a warm mass drops into her lap, and Clarke’s about to get angry - because now is _so_ not the time - when she catches a familiar hint of lavender, and immediately relaxes. Clarke’s arms quickly lift around the girl’s waist, making sure she’s steady, and pulls her closer.

 

“Clarke.” Lexa sighs, and folds herself into Clarke’s body, head dipping into the crook of her neck. The position means that Lexa’s nose is just brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck. 

 

Clarke suppresses a shudder.

 

“Where’d you run off to, Lexa?” 

 

Lexa doesn’t answer, or at least, Clarke doesn’t hear her if she does. Lexa just nuzzles further into Clarke’s neck, pressing against her firmly. 

 

Clarke thinks maybe she should stop Lexa, because she’ll probably be very embarrassed about this in the morning, but Lexa’s presence is warm and comforting, and at least if Lexa is here in her lap, she can’t get any more drunk. Or disappear again.

 

One of Lexa’s hands starts fiddling with the ends of Clarke’s hair. A few seconds later, the brunette leans back, so that she can properly examine the blonde tendrils.

 

Rubbing them between her fingertips, Lexa furrows her eyebrows. “Your hair is really soft.” 

 

“Thanks?” Clarke feels warm, maybe the alcohol is finally catching up with her.

 

“How is your hair so soft?” Lexa’s other hand reaches around to the base of Clarke’s skull, tugging gently at the hair it finds there.

 

“I, uh, I wash it regularly?” 

 

“Oh. Cool.” The slight frown that had been on Lexa’s face disappears in an instant, replaced by a dopey grin that Clarke has never seen on the brunette’s lips before. Not that she spends a lot of time looking at Lexa’s lips, she just thinks they’re pretty. It’s in the same way she thinks that Raven has nice abs. It’s just friendly admiration. 

 

More a statement of fact than a sign of attraction.

 

“Do you like Raven?”

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Raven’s my friend, of course I like her.”

 

“No!” Lexa shakes her head frantically. “I mean, I meant- Do you _like_ like her?”

 

“Oh.” Clarke tilts her head, confused as to why Lexa could be asking her this. “No?”

 

“Oh, but-” Now Lexa’s frowning too, her bottom lip is jutting out slightly, and her green eyes are dark, focused entirely on Clarke. “I saw you kiss her.” Lexa admits quietly, finally dropping her eyes from where they had been intensely gazing into Clarke’s blue ones.

 

“We aren’t-” Clarke chuckles. “No, it was just a friend kiss.”

 

“A friend kiss?” Lexa seems genuinely puzzled. “What is that?”

 

Clarke shifts back in the armchair, pulling Lexa with her. “It’s, uh-” She isn’t entirely sure how to explain it, it’s just a thing Raven, Octavia, and her have always done. “Raven’s one of my best friends, and I love her, and sometimes we kiss each other, but it doesn’t mean that we have romantic feelings for each other. So, its just a, uhm, just a friend kiss. Between two friends.” Clarke swallows. “Because Raven and I are friends, that is.”

 

Lexa nods slowly, taking in the mess of words Clarke had just spewed. 

 

“Are you going to kiss me?” Lexa asks, tone full of innocence as she pivots a little in Clarke’s lap, so that her top half is facing the blonde more fully.

 

Clarke splutters. “I, uhh, what?”

 

“Aren’t we friends, Clarke?” 

 

The brunette’s bottom lip is trembling, so Clarke rushes to reassure her, “Of course we’re friends Lex. You know that.” 

 

“But you won’t kiss me?” She looks like she’s about to cry.

 

“You’re drunk, Lex.”

 

“I’m _fine_.” The brunette protests, huffily.

 

Clarke sighs, then leans forwards, placing a soft kiss against the hinge of Lexa’s jaw. “Better?” Lexa’s frown is replaced with the goofy smile from earlier, and she nods happily before burrowing back into the crook of Clarke’s neck. 

 

Clarke gently rubs Lexa’s back, then lifts her head so that she can stare back into the crowd.

 

She smirks as she sees Raven leading Bellamy out of the room (she can’t wait to talk to Raven about _that_ ), but right now she's kind of focused on the brunette who is cuddling into her. 

 

"How much did you actually drink?" Clarke asks, chuckling awkwardly as Lexa nuzzles closer. The brunette's words are lost in a puff of air against Clarke’s neck. "You are _so_ going to regret this in the morning."


	5. and forgiveness seems too bold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it took me ages to finish this omg. also its un beta-d. will get around to that eventually.
> 
> also, 170+ subscribers?? thanks so much
> 
> chapter title from 'heart of gold' by birdy

Lexa groans into her pillow. 

 

Of all days, why did everyone in her dorm choose to be loud _now_. On the _one_ day she’s got a headache. 

 

Which - if she’s being honest with herself - is weird, because Lexa doesn’t get ill. It’s just a thing that doesn’t happen. When a flu went through the Ravenclaw dormitory, almost everyone in the house had had a hacking cough for over a week. It was disgusting, and lessons for them had been cancelled until the virus could be sorted out, so that it wouldn’t affect any of the other students in the school. The cough had, however, completely missed Lexa, and nobody really knows why. 

 

(It hadn’t helped Lexa’s popularity - which had already been practically non existent - when people started spreading the rumour that Lexa had created the virus. In a way, Lexa had been (almost) flattered at the insinuation, as the infection was remarkably complex, and far beyond her abilities.)

 

But the point is; Lexa doesn’t get ill. 

 

So why - in Merlin’s name - is her head pounding so much?

 

It feels like there’s a horde of wild centaurs in there, stomping around arrogantly - as centaurs do - and the clang of their hooves against the insides of her skull is starting to grate on her nerves.

 

She groans again.

 

The sound is met with some stifled laughter.

 

Lexa’s eyes snap open immediately - and then jolt straight back to their closed position, because the light burns, and Lexa would rather not burn her eyes right now. So she raises the arm that isn’t pinned to her side, slowly moving it so that it cups her eyes. Tentatively, she tries opening her eyes again, and exhales heavily - in relief - when she realises that her hand is properly shielding her. 

 

Lexa turns onto her side, facing the source of the sound, and - carefully - tilts her hand away from her eyes, so that she can look at the other person.

 

Clarke barely contains the fully fledged laughter that threatens to escape, because Lexa - who is normally so pristine and well turned out - looks adorably disheveled. Her hair is ridiculous, sticking out in all directions, which is a huge contrast to its usual controlled look, when Lexa has it in her signature braids. The brunette is squinting at her in a way that Clarke assumes is supposed to be menacing, but the pillow creases that cover her cheek take away from its ‘threatening’ nature.

 

Clarke smirks at the brunette. “How’re you feeling, Lex?” 

 

Lexa turns her face back into the pillow and mumbles, “Hurts.”

 

“I can help you with that, if you want?” Clarke replies, taking pity on Lexa, who is clearly suffering because of the sheer amount she had drunk the night before - how much exactly, Clarke isn’t too sure, but the girl was _hammered_ , so she assumes it was more than enough to cause a nasty headache.

 

This gets the prone brunette’s attention, and Lexa’s face flips back into view. 

 

“You can fix this?” 

 

Clarke nods, and the corners of Lexa’s lips tilt up a little. “Shall I?”

 

“Please.” Lexa mumbles, shifting onto her side so that she is fully facing the blonde. 

 

Clarke draws a small star with her wand, and tip of it glows gold, than she leans forwards, pressing it to the brunette’s temple. Lexa moans softly at the relief. Clarke’s face heats up immediately, and she jerks backwards, though the brunette takes no notice.

 

Lexa goes to bury herself back into the nest of bedding, when she pauses, “Wait, Clarke, what are you doing in my-” Lexa looks up, and finally takes notice of the room she’s in. She’s sprawled out across Clarke’s bed, a four poster bed made of a dark wood. The deep green drapes are pulled back to the posts, and secured by thick silver ropes, and the bottom of each post seems to be carved into the shape of a coiled snake. “Oh.”

 

“Yeah, you kind of passed out, and all of the other Ravenclaws were gone so I just...” Clarke trails off, her right hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of the neck while her other hand gestures vaguely towards the bed Lexa is in.

 

“Oh, uh, thanks.” Lexa sits up, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand in an effort to wake herself up more. With the headache now gone, Lexa feels warm and content enough to just lie back down and go to sleep again, but she can’t, because she’s in Clarke’s bed.

 

Oh, God.

 

She’s in Clarke’s bed.

 

If Lexa slept in Clarke’s bed, then where in Merlin’s name did _Clarke_ sleep?

 

“Don’t worry, Lexa, I slept in Monroe’s bed.” 

 

(Lexa wonders how Clarke knew exactly what she was thinking.

 

Lexa also wonders why she hates the fact that Clarke slept in someone else’s bed, and not with her.)

 

“You could’ve-” Lexa huffs, pushing herself so that her back is against the headrest of the bed. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed.”

 

Clarke laughs, finally getting up and perching on the bed by Lexa’s feet. Lexa can feel her warmth through the duvet. “Lex, I couldn’t just assume you’d be okay with that.” Clarke reaches over and puts her hand on Lexa’s knee, on top of the duvet. “Monroe is in the hospital wing anyway, she said I could use her bed. Usually either O or Raven,” She pauses, furrowing her brow, and then chuckles. “Or sometimes both, stay over after they come to parties here, so she gave me permission up front.” Lexa still doesn’t look convinced. “ _Seriously_ , Lex, it’s okay. Friends let friends take their beds.”

 

 _Friends_.

 

Lexa exhales, and a smile crosses her lips - unbidden - at Clarke’s use of the word.

 

“Okay.” She tugs at Clarke’s sleeve, and the blonde obliges, shuffling up the bed so that she’s next to Lexa, both of them leaning against the headrest. “Okay, but next time, I mean- I don’t want to kick you out of your own bed, Clarke.” The blonde looks like she’s about to interrupt, so Lexa quickly continues, “So next time, you can, uh, I mean, I don’t-” Lexa huffs. “Next time just sleep in here, okay.” The brunette finishes quietly, watching her own fingers fiddle with the top of the duvet.

 

Clarke slowly reaches over, and Lexa watches as the blonde’s hand latches on to one of Lexa’s, and tentatively intertwines their fingers.

 

“Okay,” Clarke allows, squeezing the brunette’s hand reassuringly. “But we should get moving, before the prefects come round to check who’s in the dorms.”

 

//

 

“Rae, can I talk to you?” 

 

Raven halts midway through getting up from the table, and raises an eyebrow at the blonde. 

 

“Now?”

 

Clarke nods. She knows that Raven has a free now - Clarke does too - and she needs to talk her friend about Lexa. Clarke doesn’t like the way Raven treated the other girl at dinner on friday, but hasn’t had a chance to talk to her about it since.

 

“Sure, grounds?” 

 

//

 

They make their way to their ‘spot’ - the boathouse that’s hidden at the base of the cliff, way below the Ravenclaw tower - in relative silence.

 

Raven sits lengthways on the small bench, facing Clarke with her back to the wall, and her knees pulled into her chest. She wraps her arms around her legs and leans forwards, resting her chin on her knees. “You wanna talk about Woods, don’t you?”

 

Clarke nods.

 

“And you wanna know why I acted the way I did on Friday.”

 

Another nod.

 

Raven sighs.

 

“Rae, you’re one of my best friends, and I love you, but-” Clarke exhales heavily, running a hand through her hair. “But Lexa’s my friend too, and I don’t want to lose either of you, so if there’s a genuine reason for this, then I want to know it. I just- I want my friends to get on. _All_ of you.”

 

"I don't know her, Clarke, and you know how I am around people I don't know." Raven sighs, eyes focused on the water, watching it rock the small boats back and forth, staring at the ropes as they go taut and relax again, in tandem with the movement of the boats. "I don't trust her either." The dark haired girl admits quietly, "You know who her parents are, what they did."

 

"Rae," Clarke begins softly, leaning forwards and gently taking one of the other girl's hands, "You, of all people, know that we aren't our parents." She squeezes Raven's hand. "Lexa is her own person, she doesn't _want_ to live the life they set out for her; she isn't."

 

“That isn’t- I mean, I just- Why?” Clarke furrows her brow, confused by her friends outburst. “Why _her_ in particular?”

 

“Because I like her, Rae. You would too, if you weren’t so-”

 

“So what, Clarke?” Raven stands up. “So obsessed with what her parents have done?” Clarke opens her mouth to reply, but Raven scoffs, continuing, “ _Her dad_ killed mine. How do you expect me to feel when one of my _best friends_ is suddenly chummy with the daughter of the guy who killed my dad? Should I be happy for you?”

 

“Raven-”

 

“No, Clarke, I don’t think you _get_ this.” Raven’s cheeks are flushed, jaw clenched, and she punctuates the sentence with a sharp swipe of her hand. Clarke flinches, but the other girl doesn’t even notice, just continues to pace. “My dad is _dead_ , and for years I had to hide in my own house, because I was terrified of what my own mother would do to me. She drank herself straight to St Mungo’s because of what happened to him, and then I had _no one_ , and you don’t - _can’t_ \- understand that, because you have never been _truly_ alone.”

 

Raven halts in her movements, and presses the palms of her hands against her forehead, fingers splayed. Clarke stands, stepping tentatively towards the other girl.

 

“Raven,” She begins, reaching forwards, slowly lowering her hand onto the other girl’s shoulder. Raven shudders, collapsing forwards into Clarke’s arms.

 

Clarke holds her friend, rubbing her back and whispering ‘I’m so sorry’ and ‘You’ll be okay’ and ‘I’m here’.

 

Raven just cries.

 

After a while, Raven’s tears taper off into deep breathing - she’s panting, body still wracked by the aftershock of her tears.

 

And Clarke has never really seen her cry before, she doesn’t know what to do. Because this isn’t like the tears you get from books or films, it’s _raw_ \- powerful - and it makes Clarke think of the time following the death of her father. 

 

She had cried then; hours bled into days, and into weeks, until her body was too weak to even tremble with the pain of loss. 

 

But Clarke’s pain isn’t as present as it was, she doesn’t think of him constantly, his presence isn’t forever hanging in the back of her mind, looming, casting a shadow over any hope she has of happiness. Instead, Clarke sees him in the small things; at dinner, when he made roast potatoes - she remembers how they were the only thing he could cook without magic, she remembers the proud grin on his face when he would place them on the table, serving heaped piles onto their plates. Clarke sees him in every Quidditch match she watches, she remembers standing next to him at countless matches, bundled up in dark green and gold (the colours of their team, the Holyhead Harpies) as he pointed out the special moves and tactics as they happened.

 

The sharp pang of loss may have lessened for Clarke, but she knows that it still burns Raven, knows that Raven didn’t have the same kind of support network after the loss of her father, especially because of how his death led to her mother’s depression and ill health.

 

And Clarke doesn’t know what else she can do but hold Raven. 

 

Eventually, the darker haired girl retracts, sniffling as she rubs at her eyes, which have gone red. Raven lowers herself to the floor, and Clarke follows. They lean on their backs against the wall, staring at the water. 

 

The blonde reaches over and takes her friend’s hand, and Raven looks at their intertwined fingers, eyes unfocused, “Does it ever get better?” She asks quietly, before turning to look at the small boats again, which bob gently with the water.

 

Clarke squeezes the darker haired girl’s hand, offering her a weak smile, “After a while, it gets easier,” Clarke turns to look out of the boat house’s entrance, out over the lake. She breathes in deeply, “I learned to remember how he made me happy, and not think about how he can’t anymore.”

 

Raven doesn’t respond.

 

Clarke waves her wand, her movements slow and precise. A small collection of blue spheres appear from the tip of her wand, and they expand, the edges growing harder, sharper, until each sphere takes the shape of a small bird.

 

One of the birds perches on Raven’s left knee, and the girl reaches out, gently running her finger down the creature’s back. It closes it’s eyes, leaning into her touch. 

 

“Lexa is a good person, Rae.” Clarke mumbles, eyes focused on the small bird resting on her palm, “Don’t hate her for things she had no control over.”

 

“I know, Clarke,” The bird crawls onto Raven’s finger, and she lifts her hand slowly, bringing it closer to her face. She sighs, “I trust you, and if you think she’s a good person, then-”

 

“I’m not expecting you to love her, or for you two to suddenly become best friends, or whatever,” Clarke absentmindedly tickles the top of the bird’s head, “I just don’t want you to hate her unfairly.”

 

“Okay,” The bird flies off of Raven’s finger, and she exhales heavily, before turning to face Clarke with a small smirk on her face. “I’ll try not to hurt your new girlfriend’s feelings, Clarkie.”

 

Clarke splutters, face flushing red, then pushes the darker haired girl.

 

“She is not- _we are not girlfriends_!” 

 

Clarke shoves Raven’s shoulder. 

 

Raven laughs, and the birds scatter, and Clarke thinks that maybe they’ll be okay.

 

//

 

“You have to slice it more thinly.” 

 

Clarke - who had been absentmindedly cutting the Murtlap needed for the potion, mind still on her earlier conversation with Raven - jumps at the voice, and the hand holding her knife jolts, slicing the hand that had been holding the Murtlap in place.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” The knife clatters against the chopping board and she steps backwards, lifting her hand and examining the wound. It’s not terribly deep, but it’s bleeding, and she should probably stop that. 

 

A sharp wave of her wand has the wound covered in soft bandages, which she assumes will keep it clean until she can find a sterilising potion. She turns to look at Lexa, and frowns when she sees that the other girl’s face is pale, and her eyes wet.

 

“Lexa?” Clarke steps forwards tentatively.

 

This seems to snap the girl out of her daze, and suddenly she’s in Clarke’s personal bubble, hands pulling away at the the bandage - which Clarke had _just_ applied, but she has enough sense about her to no complain. Not when there’s such a look of frantic worry in Lexa’s eyes.

 

Lexa has her wand out in a flash, and quickly makes eye contact with the blonde, searching for her permission to help. Clarke not only trusts lexa, but she has no qualms of being healed as early as possibly - she _hates_ bandages, they’re stiff, and irritating, and always seem to get in her way.

 

Lexa’s eyes immediately focus back in on her wound, she carefully waves her wand over the wound, murmuring a healing spell. 

 

(Clarke remembers it from one of her mother’s many lessons; _Vulnera Sanentur_. It’s used to bind the flesh together, particularly useful for deep gashes or wounds that are bleeding profusely. Her mother also said that it was originally created as a counter-spell for _Sectumsempra_. If she is correct, it should heal her wound, but she will have a scar unless she also applies some _Essence of Dittany_. She makes a mental note to find some as soon as possible.)

 

Her hand stings slightly as new skin forms over the cut, the area of flesh now slightly pink, and ridged. Lexa’s thumb runs over the newly healed skin, then she stops abruptly, withdrawing.

 

“Sorry, I-” Lexa stutters, face tinged pink. 

 

(Clarke is glad that some colour has returned to her face.)

 

The blonde shakes her head, stepping forwards, “Thank you,” She chuckles, reaching forwards to take back the brunette’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “Maybe you should cut the rest of that.”

 

(Clarke has already turned away from Lexa, so she doesn’t see the way her flush darkens when their hands intertwine.)

 

She waves her wand over the chopping board, “ _Tergeo_.” The small spots of blood disappear, and she steps away, moving to take Lexa’s old position at the cauldron. 

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_Clarke asked me to go with her to Hogsmeade next weekend. I’ve never been. I told her that my parents couldn’t exactly sign my permission form, and she just said that she would ‘take care of it’. I don’t know what exactly her ‘taking care of it’ entails, but maybe that’s for the best. I can’t wait to see all of those shops you told me about. I’m glad that I have some money left over from buying my supplies this year, because I need to buy a new quill. I’m still using the one you gave me three years ago. It’s nib only works if I hold it in a certain way, and the feather itself is slightly tattered, but I can’t get rid of it. I promised you I would give it back someday, and I always keep my promises._

 

_I miss you._

 

_Lexa_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I've been set 5 essays in the past 2 weeks, having the time of my life. work finishes next friday though, and then I'm into the holidays :)


	6. you two are dancing in a snow globe (round and round)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took 5 mugs of tea and a bottle of sparking water, and i restarted it three times  
> unbeta-d, so all mistakes are mine. also, they are gross. very gross.
> 
> chapter title from 'you are in love' by my bae tswizz

Clarke smiles at the look of awe in Lexa’s eyes as the other girl’s head swivels from side to side, absorbing the sight of the small village.

 

“It’ll look better when the snow has properly settled,” Clarke steps up beside the brunette, stuffing her hands in her pockets. She had forgotten to bring gloves, and the cold air is biting at her exposed skin. 

 

They’ve just gotten off of their carriage from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade. It had been a lot less packed than Clarke is used to, and the two of them had ended up sharing with a couple of fourth years, who had spent the entire fifteen minute journey loudly discussing what sweets they were going to be buying. Lexa had been listening raptly, probably making some kind of a mental list of what each sweet did, and which ones she wanted to try. 

 

(Knowing Lexa, it’s probably bullet pointed with it’s own rating system.)

 

It’s Lexa’s first time going to Hogsmeade, and Clarke feels both honoured and nervous that she is going to be the one showing the brunette around, but Lexa looks so content to just stand on the path and watch as the snow glazes to roofs and ground that she doesn’t think there is a wrong way to show her around.

 

So Clarke hooks her arm through the brunette’s, and pulls her off towards the village, bouncing slightly on her toes with every step.

 

//

 

Their first stop is the bookshop, _Tomes and Scrolls_. 

 

It’s a small, non descript shop, crushed between the ever bustling _Honeydukes_ and the local branch of _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_. The white paint on it’s sign is peeling around the black border, and the windows are dusty, and stained in a way that Clarke thinks is probably not intentional.

 

Lexa narrows her eyes suspiciously as they approach the dilapidated store front, furrowing her brows as she examines the shop’s exterior.

 

“Trust me,” Clarke tugs at the brunette’s arm, leading them towards the door. “You’ll love it.”

 

The blonde steps forwards, pushing the door open and holding it for Lexa to step through, before following her into the dark exterior. A bell jingles as they step across the threshold, and Clarke’s nostrils are immediately filled with the musty scent of old paper. Clarke loves it in here.

 

It has a small section of new books, mainly those for required school reading, but that takes up less that one shelf. The rest of the shop is lined, wall to wall, floor to ceiling, with second hand books, and Clarke _loves_ second hand books. She loves the fact that they have been read and used and owned by people before her, and that all of them have two stories; the one printed on the pages, and the one she can find between them, in small, handwritten notes on the inside of the front cover, in coffee or tea or tear stain on pages, in the creased corners of pages that have been dog eared by the previous owners. 

 

None of her friends have ever had the same sort of passion as her for books, but she figured - hoped - that Lexa would be appreciative of the small shop.

 

Clarke is drawn out of her reverie when the brunette slips away from her side, walking towards the nearest bookshelf - full of old children’s books, if Clarke’s memory serves her correctly - and gently runs a finger along the spines of the books, stopping on an old copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. She carefully pulls the book from the shelf, and holds it while examining the front cover. It’s old, Clarke can tell from where she’s still standing in the doorway. It has the original blue cover, just like the copy that sits in her bedroom back at the Griffin household, so it must be at least a couple of hundred of years old. 

 

Lexa brushes over the front of the book to get rid of the small coating of dust, then traces over the the figure embossed in black, finger slowly following the ridges. She pauses at the top of his hat, then withdraws her hand so that she can open it. Clarke shakes her head, opting to leave Lexa to her examination of the book, and moves towards the till to speak with the shop owner; she had ordered a book at halloween, but hadn’t had a chance to retrieve it yet. It was a copy of _Ingredient Encyclopedia_ , which her mother had recommended that she get, as it would help her study medically useful ingredients. 

 

Clarke had also ordered a copy of _Jiggery Pokery and Hocus Pocus_ , which her mother had definitely _not_ recommended, but it was intended as a Christmas present to Raven, as opposed to a twisted form of studying. Raven has been engaged in a prank war with Murphy since early on in the second year, when the Slytherin boy had turned her spaghetti into a plate of baby snakes (He had been upset at her taking the last portion), and despite the fact that Murphy is in her house, Clarke has always rooted for her Ravenclaw friend. Mainly because Murphy is a slimy toad, but also because Raven tends to come up with the more inventive - and consequently, hilarious - so really, she should have won ages ago.

 

(It’s not like Clarke has bet money on Raven ‘winning’ and is protecting her investment, not at all. She would never bet on her friends.)

 

(But if she had - if she was - could anyone really blame her?)

 

She shrinks both books, putting them into a small compartment in her bag, before making her way over to Lexa, who is tracing over one of the gothic illustrations in _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_. 

 

Clarke wanders over to the brunette, idly tapping her fingers on the shelves as she approaches, “It’s a cute book,” Lexa breathes in sharply, finally dragging her eyes away from the yellowing pages. “You gonna get it?”

 

“I don’t-” The brunette sighs, closing the book quickly and stowing it back on the shelves. “It’s too expensive.”

 

Clarke nods, biting her lip. 

 

 _She_ could buy Lexa the book, but that hasn’t worked well for her in the past. The Griffins have always been well off, that’s no secret, but Clarke’s found that people don’t take well to that money being ‘rubbed in their faces’, despite that not being her intention. She’d just figured that, since she _had_ the money, she could buy it, but- Well, Clarke hasn’t done that since.

 

But Lexa seemed to really like that book.

 

And Christmas is coming up, so it can just be an early present. Or, Clarke could save it until Christmas, maybe. 

 

Lexa spins on her feet, walking towards the spell books on the opposite wall, and Clarke clenches her jaw, quickly making up her mind. Glancing back over at the brunette, to make sure she’s otherwise engaged, the blonde quickly pulls the book back off of the shelf, striding over to the till.

 

In a hushed voice, she asks him to save it for her, agreeing to come and collect it next week.

 

//

 

After visiting the bookshop, they head to _Honeydukes_ next door, Clarke pushes through the crowd of younger years, creating a path for her and Lexa to get into the already overcrowded shop.

 

Clarke drags the brunette over to the fancier sweets aisle. After scanning the various containers for a couple of seconds, she spots what she was looking for; a small glass jar, filled with large, pink, sherbet balls. 

 

“Here,” The blonde says, fishing out a sweet from the jar, and holding it out for Lexa to try. Clarke laughs at the suspicious look on the brunette’s face, “What? You scared of a _Fizzing Whisbee_ , or something?”

 

A determined look immediately floods Lexa’s face, and she snatches the pink sweet, quickly popping it in her mouth.

 

“Hey, this actually tastes-” 

 

Lexa squeaks.

 

Like, actually, _legitimately_ squeaks.

 

Clarke laughs at the look of horror that crosses the brunette’s face as she hovers above the floor. Her eyes are wide and she’s kicking her feet frantically, searching for some kind of solid footing. Clarke just grins, knowing that the movement is just going to make her float higher.

 

“Did you just-” Clarke has to stop, because she’s laughing too much to continue, the sight of Lexa flailing about, when she is usually so reserved and well put together proving too much for her. “Did you just _squeak_?” 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa’s jaw is clenched, but her skin is still pale. “Get me _down_.”

 

“Aren’t you enjoying being significantly taller than me?” The blonde grins, waving the jar teasingly.

 

“ _Clarke_ ,”

 

Clarke laughs and dutifully flicks her wand, dropping Lexa safely back to the floor. She smirks when the brunette grabs the jar and pushes it back onto the shelf, stepping far away from the pink sweets.

 

“Sure you don’t want another one?” 

 

“Shut up.”

 

//

 

“What about this one?” Lexa asks, holding up a scarlet lollypop.

 

Clarke laughs, “Blood flavoured.”

 

Lexa grimaces, dropping it back into the tray she had found it in.

 

“Who even buys those?”

 

“Vampires, of course.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes, “Vampires don’t exist, Clarke.”

 

The blonde shrugs and skips off towards a display full of chocolate, claiming that Lexa has no proof.

 

//

 

Lexa holds up a small package, which has a black imp printed on the front, raising an eyebrow questioningly at Clarke.

 

“Pepper Imps,” The blonde supplies absentmindedly, back facing the brunette as she examines various packets of _Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Bean_ , trying to find the ones with the most ‘good’ flavours.

 

“What do they do?” The packet rustles as Lexa turns it over in her hands, checking the ingredients.

 

“Fire breathing.”

 

Lexa fumbles with the packet, just barely managing not to drop it, and looks up at Clarke, eyes wide.

 

“Fire? These make you-” She looks down at the packet, and then back up at Clarke. “Fire?”

 

Clarke chuckles, finally deciding on two packets of _Every Flavour Beans_ , which seem to have the most red ones (which could either be strawberry or chilli flavour, strawberry being her favourite. Chilli? Well, not so much.) and looks over at the brunette, who seems to be involved in an intense stare off with the packet of _Pepper Imps_.

 

“You know that we are literally wizards, right?” Clarke steps over to Lexa, grabbing the packet and holding it up, “Magic is kind of our thing.”

 

“Who even wants to breathe fire?”

 

The blonde chuckles at the exasperated look on Lexa’s face, “They’re Bell’s favourite. He thinks they make him look more scary.” Lexa raises an eyebrow, and Clarke smirks, answering the girl’s silent question, “He uses them in Quidditch try outs to scare the younger years into doing all the drills.”

 

“Huh,” Lexa reaches over and grabs another packet from the shelf.

 

//

 

They each leave _Honeydukes_ with small bags of sweets. 

 

Lexa hadn’t bought much, just a package of _Pepper Imps_ , and a couple of _Sugar Quills_. Clarke, on the other hand, had gone all out. Her bag of sweets is significantly larger - and heavier - than the brunette’s, filled with packets of _Every Flavour Beans_ , _Chocolate Frogs_ , _Fizzing Whisbees_ , and a load of sweets that make the consumer create realistic animal noises.

 

During the time they had spent in the sweet shop, the snow had started to come down much heavier, and the chill of the air is really starting to get to Clarke, who forgot to wear a hat or gloves. When Lexa notices Clarke shivering, she quickly takes off her own hat, pushing it over the blonde hair, so that it covers the tips of Clarke’s ears. 

 

“Lex, I can’t take your-” Clarke protests, reaching up with her free hand to remove it, but Lexa grabs her arm instead, which halts her movement.

 

“Just wear the damn hat, Clarke.”

 

//

 

As they walk through the snow blanketed streets, back towards _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_ , Clarke in no way notices how flushed Lexa’s cheeks are, or how the tips of her nose and ears have gone pink in response to the cold air. She also doesn’t notice how snowflakes catch in the brunette’s eyelashes and hair, shimmering a little in the sunlight. She doesn’t notice how Lexa keeps licking her lips to protect them from cracking.

 

She doesn’t.

 

//

 

(She does.)

 

//

 

In _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_ , Clarke buys a couple of Self-Inking quills, but tells Lexa that if she wants a new, _good_ , quill, then she should go to _Scrivenshaft’s_ , so they put that next on the agenda.

 

Lexa stands by a large bowl of a black powder, tilting her head as she looks at it.

 

“That’s _Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder_ ,” Clarke explains, pinching a small amount between her index finger and thumb, than letting it drop back into the bowl. 

 

“What does it do?”

 

Clarke straightens up, “Exactly what it says on the tin; instant darkness.” The blonde picks up a small bag of the powder, weighing it in her hand. “Complete darkness, no spells work. Not even _Lumos_. I’ve used it a couple of times. So’s Raven.”

 

“Does it work?” Lexa asks, picking up a smaller bag than the one Clarke’s holding.

 

“Like a charm.”

 

//

 

On the way out of the shop, Clarke buys a bag of chestnuts from the _Dragon Roasted Nuts_ machine by the door. Lexa is fascinated by the miniature dragon, which stalks around over the food, occasionally breathing red and blue fire over them. They take turns eating from the bag as they walk over to _Scrivenshaft’s_ , the hot food a nice relief from the ever colder air.

 

 _Scrivenshaft’s_ is a small shop set in dark wood, with a low door - Lexa has to duck slightly to pass through.

 

Lexa ends up buying an eagle feathered quill and a small stack of parchment. Clarke elects to not buy anything, as she already has a functioning quill, and she can always borrow parchment off of Raven or Octavia, should she need some, given that they almost never use theirs.

 

Then they head towards _The Three Broomsticks_ , where Clarke promised to meet Bellamy, Octavia, Raven, and Lincoln. 

 

“Have you ever had Butterbeer?” 

 

“No?”

 

“Oh my god, we have to fix this right now.” Clarke moves her hand so that it’s gripping Lexa’s bicep, then pulls her over to the bar, holding up two fingers to the bartender. She swaps the two glasses of Butterbeer he gives her for four sickles, and slides one of the brimming glasses to the brunette. “C’mon, Bell said he’d get a table.”

 

They push their way through the gaggle of people by the bar, and Clarke grins when she spots her friends hunched over a large table in the corner. Clarke slides onto the bench next to Raven, who barely acknowledges her, because she’s absorbed in a game of Wizard’s chess against Bellamy. Lexa perches on the bench next to her, gently placing her cup on the table in front of her.

 

Clarke laughs when she see’s the suspicious look the brunette is giving her drink, “It’s not going to kill you, you know?”

 

“That’s what you said about that sweet you gave me.”

 

“Actually,” Clarke smirks, reclining in her seat. “I’m pretty sure I just said ‘here’.”

 

“Shut up.” Lexa mumble, but she reaches up to lightly hold the glass regardless.

 

“Lexa’s never had Butterbeer before.” Clarke announces, which garners the attention of everyone at the table.

 

(“What? Never?”)

 

“Not everyone likes to get drunk, Clarke.”

 

“You were literally drunk last week.”

 

“Yeah, but I-” Lexa’s face flushes at the memory of that night. “That wasn’t my fault.”

 

“Mhm.” Clarke hums, smirking at her friend’s flushed face, then reaches over and taps on the girl’s glass. “Drink up, Lex.”

 

Raven groans from the other side of the blonde. “You two need to stop being so gross, some of us are trying to win a chess game here.”

 

“Shut up, Rae.”

 

When Clarke punches her in the shoulder, the darker haired girl just laughs.

 

//

 

“Yes!” Raven exclaims, around ten minutes later, jumping up and pointing her finger in Bellamy’s face victoriously. “Check mate, _sucker_.”

 

“You- No, you cheated.”

 

“You were watching her the whole time, Bell.” Octavia supplies, grinning as Lincoln hands her a couple of galleons.

 

“You bet on _her_ winning?” 

 

“I like to make money, Bell, not lose it.”

 

“Yeah, what’s our current score?” Raven pipes up, smirking at the sulking brunette. “Oh yeah, I remember. Oh and everything, Bell. That's zero to you, and everything to me."

 

Lexa leans towards Clarke and whispers, “Are they always like this?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke answers loudly, “I’m starting to wish they’d just get it over with and make out already.”

 

Clarke expected immediate denials and proclamations about how that kind of implication is gross and that they would never get together. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for the two of them to blush and simultaneously look away.

 

 _Interesting_. 

 

//

 

Later, as they’re leaving the inn, Clarke glances at her watch, “Guys, we’ve got another hour or so until we need to be back for the carriages to the castle, so we can go visit the Shrieking Shack, if you want?”

 

Everyone responds with some kind of variation of the word ‘yes’, so they turn up the path away from the station

 

“That sounds,” Lexa trails off, brow furrowed. “Fun?”

 

“I know!” Clarke grins, quickly looping her free arm through the brunette’s, and pulling her up the path behind the rest of the group.

 

They slow down as they get nearer to the house, which rises ominously over the top of the hill they’re climbing. It’s made of red bricks, and the roof is tiled black. Most of the windows are boarded up, and those that aren’t have planks of wood hanging off at weird angles. A flock of crows is perched on the roof, and on some of the higher window sills.

 

“Tom Riddle grew up here,” Clarke looks over at Lexa, who has a strangely distant look in her eyes. “Voldemort himself.”

 

“Lex,” Clarke begins, trailing her hand down the brunette’s forearm before gently intertwining their fingers. “You know-”

 

“Are those-”

 

“Look out!”

 

Clarke whips her head around to look at the group, who are a couple of metres ahead of them. Bellamy is standing protectively in front of Raven, and all four of them have their wands raised, eyes fixed on something behind Clarke and Lexa.

 

The two of them look behind them, and Lexa freezes.

 

“Dementors,” The blonde mutters, quickly reaching inside her coat for her own wand.

 

“Clarke, _run!”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took ages, but i got kind of addicted to suits and watched 44 episodes in four days.
> 
> its really good, a++ would recommend. stars my second wife, meghan markle.


	7. this slope is treacherous (this path is reckless)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz that the chapter is short and stuff, but i was having a block and shit so...  
> but i wanted to write something before i go on holiday tomoz.
> 
> chapter title from 'treacherous' by taylor swift

_Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth._

 

_They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair. They drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them._

 

_Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you._

 

_(You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life.)_

 

//

 

_“Clarke, run!”_

 

//

 

The air is thick.

 

The once soft flakes of snow are hard now, sharp and vicious as they cut into Clarke’s exposed skin. The snow beneath her feet is hard, the small tufts and piles that line the path a frozen into jagged blades.

 

Clarke’s ear feel blocked; the shouts coming from her friends up ahead seem muted, as though they are behind a door, in another room. As though they are hundreds of metres away instead of ten. She can’t make out the words, only their sense of panic. Of desperation.

 

Her breaths come in short bursts, their sound oddly loud in the relative quiet. The moisture in them freezes in the air, fogging up slightly before disappearing into her surroundings.

 

Clarke’s knuckles are white as they grip the wand. 

 

She tries to think of a happy memory; any happy memory.

 

//

 

Some of Clarke’s favourite memories are from Christmas mornings, back when she was a child. She would wake up early and go into her parents room, dragging her bleary eyed father down the stairs and into the kitchen, where they would prepare the batter for their special, once a year, gingerbread muffins. After the mixture had been poured into the moulds, her dad would lift her up, so that she could poke small bits of chocolate into each one. When they were put in the oven, Clarke would grab a cushion off of the sofa and sit in front of it, watching them grow through the glass of the oven door.

 

(One year, Clarke burnt herself, because the timer had gone off while her father wasn’t in the room, and she tried to take them out without oven gloves.)

 

These muffins were (and still are) her favourite food, especially when they’ve just come out of the oven. They’re soft, and she loves the way the melted chocolate in the middle spreads through her mouth, filling her with warmth, thawing her. They make her think of spending the day in front of a roaring fire, and the joy of tearing into her presents, and finding out that Santa had gotten her exactly what she had asked for.

 

But Clarke can’t see any of that anymore. 

 

The bright red of her father’s apron is grey now, wrapped around a skeleton. He was buried a month before Christmas. Hundreds of people had flocked to his funeral, clad in black, bearing white roses and empty words, and Clarke watched as his casket was lowered into the ground. Her mother couldn’t make a speech. 

 

(They didn’t make muffins that Christmas. 

 

And Santa forgot about her.)

 

//

 

A long, rattling breath jars Clarke from her memories. 

 

The air around her is tinged blue, and the Dementors are swarming. The form a black mass; a wall that moves ever closer. Clarke grimaces as she sees slate coloured hand emerge from the depths of black cloaks, scabbed and slimy, reaching towards her.

 

She takes a step back, reaching down for Lexa’s hand.

 

It feels cold, even through the other girl’s gloves. Lexa doesn’t thread their fingers together, instead, her hand feels limp. 

 

“Lexa, come on,” Clarke glances worriedly at her friend’s face. She tugs at the brunette’s hand. “We need to move.”

 

Lexa blinks, eyes unfocused.

 

(Unseeing.)

 

Clarke clenches her jaw, turning back to face the advancing hooded figures.

 

She knows the spell; she can do the movements, she knows the words, but she just can’t _think_. 

 

Gritting her teeth, Clarke steps in front of the brunette. She points her wand shakily at the horde of dementors.

 

She won’t let them hurt Lexa.

 

“ _Expecto Patronum_!”

 

The Dementors scatter as a bright white, translucent Gorilla bursts into the clearing, charging straight past the girls. It’s huge, far larger than any normal sized animal, and it towers over the retreating demons, teeth bared in a silent roar as it pounds its fists noiselessly against it’s chest.

 

Clarke exhales heavily, turning around to face Lexa, who remains motionless, staring blankly behind the blonde at the place the Dementors had been just moments earlier. 

 

She’s crying, Clarke notices, the tears falling rapidly and silently down her face, curving over the high arch of cheekbones and disappearing into the scarf that’s wound tightly around her neck.

 

“Lex,” Clarke whispers, cupping the brunette’s face with both hands and swiping away at the tear tracks with her thumbs. “You’re safe. They’re gone. We’re _all_ safe.”

 

Lexa swallows heavily, blinking as her eyes finally focus on Clarke. They dart quickly over the blonde’s face as one of her hands reaches out, grasping tightly at Clarke’s forearm, as though to reassure herself of the blonde’s presence.

 

“Clarke,” Lexa’s voice is hoarse, and it cracks halfway through the word. The brunette sways slightly on her feet, and Clarke has just enough time to grab her around the waist before she passes out.

 

//

 

“I’m fine, Clarke.” 

 

“You’re not,” Clarke breaks off another small chunk of chocolate, offering it to Lexa silently. “And no-one expects you to be. None of us are.”

 

The brunette shrugs, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

“Okay.” Clarke acquiesces, moving to perch on the bed next to Lexa. “Okay, we won’t talk about it," Lexa moves to stand up, "But you’re staying here tonight.”

 

“Clarke-” 

 

“I need you here,” Clarke says softly, and if Lexa’s ears weren’t finely tuned to hear the other girl’s voice - if it weren’t so silent in the dorm room - Lexa could’ve missed it. She doesn’t, though, and the quiet admission stops her, because she can’t remember the last time someone has _needed_ her.

 

(Lexa can’t remember the last time she let someone get close enough to rely on her.)

 

" _Please_ ," The blonde's hand is on her wrist, holding it loosely. When Lexa relaxes back into her sitting position on the bed, Clarke's hand slides down to link with the brunette's, carefully intertwining their fingers.

 

“Okay,” 

 

When a grin spreads across the blonde’s face, brightening it in a way that sparks something low in the brunette’s stomach, Lexa thinks that she would do anything to keep that smile on her friend’s face. 

 

“Do you have anything I could change into?”

 

Clarke springs up, skipping towards the foot of her bed and rummaging around in her trunk. A few seconds later, Lexa is startled when she is hit in the face by some heavy material.

 

The clothes drop into her lap, and she looks over at Clarke to ask where she can get changed, but the blonde has her back to Lexa. Her _bare_ back. 

 

(Oh god.)

 

Lexa gulps, eyes wide as she jolts her head away, looking back at the clothes in her lap. 

 

She guesses she’s getting changed here, then.

 

//

 

_“You don’t have a choice.”_

 

_“I won’t kill her,” Lexa protests, jaw clenched, the hand holding her wand shaking at her hip. “She's done nothing wrong. I won’t-”_

 

_“You’ll do as you’re told.” The voice is eerily calm, authoritative. It takes everything in Lexa not to give in to her mother’s demands, not to cave as she has so many times in the past. But this is different; this is a person._

 

_If she complies, then there’s no coming back from this._

 

_The sight of her friend crumpled on the floor - wrists bound and shackled to the wall - gives Lexa the strength to defy her mother._

 

 _“I_ **_won’t_ ** _,” Lexa growls, “She’s my friend and I-”_

 

 _Instead of responding, Lexa’s mother simply waves her wand, muttering in a monotonous, disinterested voice, “_ **_Crucio_ ** _.”_

 

//

 

Lexa is panting when she wakes up.

 

Her forehead is sweaty, and her forehead is pounding. Lexa’s chest is throbbing with a phantom pain that she shouldn’t still feel. She’s lying on her back in Clarke’s bed, staring up at the dark green canopy. Clarke’s breathing is steady beside her, and she snuffles slightly in her sleep every few breaths. 

 

Lexa tilts her head back on the pillows, closing her eyes and trying to wipe the memories of her dream out of her head.

 

Slowly - so that she doesn’t disturb the sleeping blonde - Lexa pushes herself out of the bed, moving towards the doorway. She makes her way down the marble staircase on her tip toes, silently, and enters the common room. 

 

The room is mainly dark, lit only by the soft green glow of the fire in the hearth. She wanders over to the dark windows, staring out at the murky waters of the Black Lake.

 

The Slytherin common room is the only one underground - the other three houses each have a tower - and it has windows that show the underwater goings on. Clarke told her that sometimes the merpeople swim by the window, and the blonde claims to have seen the giant squid.

 

The black steel that frames each square of glass is twisted, and scales are carved into it - barely noticeable, unless someone is as close to them as Lexa is - and snakeheads are formed into the ends of each coil. 

 

Lexa taps her finger on the glass softly, and startles slightly when a figure emerges from the weeds along the riverbed.

 

The figure pushes through, and she recognises it to be a _Selkie_ , one of the many different kinds of Merpeople that roam the dark currents of the lake. It has greyish skin, and long, knotted hair that flows way past it’s shoulders. A rough looking necklace of pebbles hangs around it’s neck, and it’s yellow eyes are narrowed as it stares at Lexa through the glass.

 

Lexa tilts her her head, furrowing her brows.

 

She lifts her hand back towards the glass, putting her fingers back where they had been before the creature had appeared.

 

It reaches up, palm first, holding up a stone.

 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Lexa turns around quickly, and Clarke smiles softly at her from the foot of the stairs. 

 

“Why not?” Lexa questions, turning back towards the windows, frowning when she sees that the creature has gone.

 

“It was going to stick you to the window,” Lexa raises her eyebrow. “The _Selkies_ are dicks, they’ve do it a lot.”

 

“Oh,”

 

Clarke walks slowly towards the brunette, who is back to staring out the window at the murky waters. “Do you wanna talk about why you’re down here instead of up in my bed, when its nice and toasty up there, and cold as Merlin’s left foot down here?”

 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Lexa mumbles.

 

When she gets within arm’s length of the brunette, Clarke reaches out and lays a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, squeezing it softly.

 

“C’mon,” The blonde whispers, smiling encouragingly at Lexa. “Even if you can’t get back to sleep, at least you won’t freeze your butt off up there.”

 

Lexa scoffs, “You just want to use me for my extra warmth.”

 

“That’s not true,” Clarke protests, grinning. “You also make a great pillow.”

 

Lexa huffs, but allows herself to be led back up the stairs and into the dorm room. At the door, she turns back to look at the windows, wondering why the creature of the lake had offered her a stone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i put in a lil angst for you. you're welcome
> 
> its un beta-d so if you see any glaring errors just give me a shout


	8. oh no, you girls never know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 8, aka grossness ft Raven 'fed up of your shit' Reyes
> 
> chapter title from 'no you girls' by franz ferdinand

When Clarke wakes up, her nostrils are immediately filled with the strong scent of lavender. She feels oddly warm - the Slytherin dormitory is notoriously cold, given it’s position under the lake, and the green fire in the various fireplaces gives off a cool breeze rather than heat, meaning the Slytherins tend to be dressed up for the cold weather much earlier than the other houses.

 

Instead of pushing herself up to check what could be the cause, Clarke snuggles into her pillow blindly, grinning when it reciprocates. 

 

Wait-

 

Clarke’s eyes shoot open, and she freezes when she realises that her ‘pillow’ - the one she had just squeezed and cuddled into - was not, in fact, a pillow at all. 

 

 _Oh_.

 

The lavender that Clarke had smelled upon waking up was coming from the brunette’s hair, and the warmth from her body heat. When the blonde tries to push herself up, Lexa’s arms tighten around her waist - they must have gotten there sometime when the two girls were sleeping, because Clarke definitely doesn’t remember falling asleep like this - preventing her from getting out of the position.

 

Clarke is about to give up and relax back into her prone position against the other girl’s shoulder, when she realises what day it is.

 

Every Monday there is a dormitory inspection, carried out by the Slytherin prefects - it began when Clarke was in third year, and there had been a party on Sunday night, celebrating their win over Gryffindor in the Quidditch match, and almost none of the students had attended their lessons that day. Ever since, the prefects have been forced to wake them up on Monday mornings, whether they have a party the night before or not. It will start at eight o’clock sharp, and Lexa needs to be out of Clarke’s bed and into her own before then, which gives them just over half an hour.

 

 _Merlin_ , Clarke needs to wake the brunette up right now, or else they will both be in deep dragon’s dung.

 

“Lexa!” Clarke whispers forcefully, shaking the brunette’s shoulder awkwardly from her position over her. “Lexa, wake _up_!”

 

Lexa shoots up immediately, and Clarke would’ve laughed at the ridiculous speed, had the brunette’s forehead not collided so painfully with hers. 

 

“ _Fuck_ -”

 

“ _Son_ of a-”

 

Lexa lets go of Clarke in favour of cradling her forehead with her palms, eyes scrunched shut. Clarke adopts a similar position, rubbing her throbbing skull and groaning.

 

“In the name of Merlin’s arse,” Lexa furrows her eyebrows at this, squinting at the blonde from below her hands. “Why is your head _so_ hard?”

 

Instead of waiting for an answer, Clarke leans off of the side of her bed to grab her wand, and points it at her own head. She murmurs, ‘ _Capitis Sanatio_ ’, which makes the tip of her wand glow rosy pink, and then waves it in front of her forehead. She exhales softly at the relief, and then raises her wand, offering to do the same for the brunette.

 

“Lexa,” The girl looks up, rubbing her forehead absentmindedly with her fingers, “You need to leave, like, _now_.”

 

//

 

Clarke had smuggled Lexa out through a secret passage outside of the Slytherin dungeons, guarded by a young, dark skinned boy, who offered the blonde a smile and a wink as she ushered the brunette into the dark corridor behind him.

 

Lexa didn’t know why she felt uncomfortable at this small display of affection, but forced herself not to react - besides, she figured that destroying the painting would mean she could never use this passageway again, meaning she wouldn’t be able to spend any more nights with Clarke. And maybe Lexa wants to keep her options open in the future.

 

//

 

“Can anyone tell me what this potion is?” The Professor asks, gesturing to the potion on his workbench with one hand, while holding the lid in his other.

 

The liquid is shimmering. It has a mother-of-pearl sheen, and the steam is tinged pink, spiralling over the surface of the potion. The room is immediately filled with a sweet scent, and Clarke can make out the smell of lavender, mixed with cut grass, and fresh parchment. It’s an odd mix of scents, but she thinks they work incredibly well together.

 

She breathes in deeply, taking in the comforting scent like a drink. It’s warmth settles deep in her chest.

 

(She feels slightly lightheaded.)

 

Lexa raises her hand timidly, “Amortentia?” 

 

“Absolutely correct, Miss Woods, ten points to Ravenclaw!” He claps his hands together, smiling. “There’s another ten points up for grabs if you can tell me what it does.”

 

Lexa swallows, cheeks heating up, “It’s a love potion,” Her hand drops down to fiddle with the hem of her jumper, “It’s scent is supposed to represent whatever is most attractive to you.”

 

“Another ten points,” He quickly replaces the lid on the cauldron, and Clarke blinks herself back into awareness. The smell of the potion had been like a blanket over her senses, and its disappearance is like a bucket of cold water over her head, shocking her back to reality. The Professor walks to the bench perching on the end, “Amortentia, the most powerful love potion in existence. Of course, it doesn’t create _actual_ love, rather, a powerful infatuation of sorts. More of an obsession than anything else, which is what makes it incredibly dangerous. Once consumed, you will have no control over your own actions.”

 

After he has sent them back to their workbenches, with the page number to the potion’s recipe, Clarke leans over to the brunette, “So, what did you smell?”

 

Lexa’s face immediately flushes red, and she stutters, quickly pivoting away from the blonde to face their empty cauldron.

 

“Lex?” Clarke reaches out to rub the girl’s back gently, “You okay?”

 

The brunette coughs, “Yeah, uhm, yes. I’m going to go get the ingredients.”

 

“ _Okay_ ,” Clarke draws out the word, confused, but it falls on deaf ears, as Lexa is already halfway to the storage cupboard. “Whatever.”

 

//

 

“Lexa, it wants me to juice the rose petals.” Clarke whines, looking at the pile of pink flowers on her chopping board. “How am I supposed to get juice out of petals?”

 

Lexa looks over at the struggling blonde, then pushes the small container of powdered _Moonstone_ towards her. “Strip the petals off of three of the flowers, put them in the mortar with a handful of that.”

 

Clarke does as the brunette says, “And then I just...?” She trails off, holding up the pestle and gesturing at the bowl of petals and moonstone.

 

“Yes,” Lexa turns back to concentrate on the potion, which is bubbling rapidly in the cauldron. “Shouldn’t take long to get a couple of spoonfuls of juice.”

 

//

 

Lexa holds the _Ashwinder_ egg carefully between a gloved finger and thumb, knife poised over it’s frozen top. She slowly cuts a cross into it, then picks up the other two - which she had already prepared - and walks over to the cauldron.

 

“You might want to step back,” She advises the blonde, stepping closer to the bubbling liquid. “This is going to spit.”

 

True to her word, as soon as the eggs are placed in the liquid - currently deep purple in colour - the liquid begins to bubble rapidly, splashing out of the cauldron. Just as Lexa slams the lid on the cauldron, a drop lands on the bare skin of Clarke’s arm.

 

She yelps, jumping away and almost falling over when she backs into a chair. Lexa quickly rushes over, calling to the Professor for help. He pulls out his wand, muttering a quick healing spell, and wrapping the blonde’s arm in dark green bandages (infused with mandrake roots) which will speed up the healing process, reducing the likelihood of the blonde getting a scar.

 

The Professor heads over to his desk, so that he can get a bottle of Pumpkin juice for Clarke, and Lexa quickly takes hold of the blonde’s bandaged arm.

 

“Are you alright?” She asks, stroking over the green material with her thumb.

 

Clarke smiles softly at the worried look in her friends eyes, and lays her hand over the brunette’s on her arm. “I’ll be fine, Lex, let’s just finish the potion.”

 

“You sit.” Lexa shakes her head, pointing at a stool by their workbench, the one furthest away from the cauldron. “There are only a couple of ingredients left to add, I can do it.”

 

Clarke pouts, “But-”

 

“Drink your Pumpkin juice and sit.”

 

“Ugh,” Clarke takes the cup and stomps over to the seat Lex had pointed at.

 

(Lexa’s fairly certain that the blonde murmurs ‘ _I hate pumpkin juice_ ’, but she drinks it nonetheless.)

 

The brunette can feel a smile tugging at her lips as she removes the lid, adding the cherry blossom and pushing it to the bottom of the cauldron with her spoon.

 

//

 

(Their potion ends up being almost perfect, but the Professor suggests they put the lid on faster next time, so that they don’t lose any of the _Ashwinder_ egg juice.

 

They both get _Outstanding_ ’s, and - when the lesson ends - Clarke promptly leaves to find Bellamy, so that she can rub her grade in his face; he only got an _Exceeds Expectations_.)

 

//

 

“So you were making love potions in Potions, huh?” Raven smirks, perfectly executing the transfiguration charm (They’ve been spending the lesson conjuring small flocks of birds from thin air. Raven has spent the week figuring out how to make the birds come out as raven’s. Clarke thinks that this is the most concentrated the darker haired girl has ever been in this lesson.) “Trouble in paradise?”

 

“What?” Clarke scowls, conjuring up six small birds, all of which are bright red with small, blue beaks. They hover menacingly either side of her head.

 

“If you need to make a love potion, then clearly something’s going wrong in your relationship.” 

 

Raven cackles, sprinting away quickly, when Clarke sends her small flock of birds at her.

 

( _“Miss Griffin! That is_ not _appropriate classroom behaviour.”_

 

_“Sorry Professor, I sneezed.”_

 

 _Clarke has to recall her birds, albeit begrudgingly_.)

 

The darker haired girl wanders back over, grinning smugly, as though she had just won something.

 

“ _So_ ,” Raven begins, swiping her wand through the air, causing her birds to burst into small puffs of smoke, which quickly dissipates, leaving no trace of the ravens. “What did you smell?”

 

“Why would I tell you?”

 

“Aww, c’mon Clarkie,” The darker haired girl pouts, “I swear, I won’t make any jokes about you and Woods for at least, like, two days?”

 

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Clarke furrows her brow, grabbing her text book off of the table and shoving it into her bag.

 

“I’m, uh, just testing out a theory?” Raven shrugs, scratching the back of her neck.

 

“Lavender, parchment, and grass.” Clarke pauses, frowning. “Do you know who it could be?”

 

Raven just stares blankly at the blonde. “Are you just messing with me, or are you literally _that_ oblivious?”

 

“What?” Clarke tilts her head questioningly, and Raven huffs.

 

“I don’t know why I bother.”

 

The Ravenclaw girl walks past Clarke, towards the exit. “Wait, Raven!” Clarke hurriedly packs up the rest of her stuff. “What do you mean? _Raven_!”

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_I went to Honeydukes on the weekend. Clarke took me on a tour; we went to see the bookshop, the sweets shop (I didn’t know people would spend so much money on such weird things), the Weasley’s joke shop, and a shop that sells parchment and special quills. Afterwards we went to the Three Broomsticks, that pub you’ve been telling me about since you went in third year, and Clarke bought me a Butterbeer. We hung out with her friends, it was nice. That Raven girl wasn’t as rude as she was the first time I met her, but then again, she didn’t really talk to me, so I’m not sure it counts as civility._

 

_On the way to the Shrieking shack we were ambushed by Dementors. It was horrible. I couldn’t move because all I could remember is what my parents did to you._

 

_I miss you so much._

 

_Lexa_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another shorter un beta-d one. which is very gross, wow.
> 
> (how long can clarke stay oblivious before one of them snaps...?)
> 
> also i wrote most of this while listening to tswizz so blame the gross fluff on her


	9. i can feel the heat, but i'm not burning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another short chapter... but you guys might appreciate this one? at least, most of it :)
> 
> chapter title from 'falling' by Haim

Clarke doesn’t see Raven again until dinnertime that day, and immediately jumps on the opportunity to ask the girl what she had meant earlier.

 

“Oh, c’mon, Clarke.” Raven groans, rubbing at her forehead with the heel of her hands. She looks around briefly, “Where’s Woods?”

 

“She has an exam.” The blonde explains, waving her hand a little. “And stop trying to change the subject, just _tell_ me.” The darker haired girl just shakes her head. “Raven, _please_.” Clarke leans closer to the darker haired girl, the edges of her eyes are crinkled, and the blue of her irises is wide and searching.

 

Raven sighs, “Okay, just- Octavia!” She calls, beckoning their friend over, and gesturing towards the empty seat across from them. Octavia skips over, setting quickly, before diving towards the large plate of roast beef in the middle of the table. “O, stop thinking with your stomach for a sec. Clarke,” Raven turns to face the blonde, “Tell O what you smelled when they brought out the Amortentia.”

 

Octavia immediately drops the serving spoon, a smirk tugging at her lips as she leans forwards. “Amortentia?” She looks over at Raven and widens her eyes questioningly, the other girl nods. Octavia smirks and turns back to the blonde, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, “Tell me everything, princess.”

 

// 

 

"Okay, come on," Octavia glances over at Raven, face flushed with exasperation, then turns back to face the blonde, who returns the look blankly. "Come _on_ , Clarke."

 

Clarke shakes her head, bewildered, “What are _you_ seeing that _I’m_ not?” 

 

“Are you-” Octavia breaks off, huffing, before turning back to look at Raven. “Is she serious?”

 

The darker haired girl nods grimly, “‘Fraid so,”

 

Octavia drops her head, and - none too gently - bangs it against the solid wood of the table.

 

Clarke looks worriedly at Raven, brows furrowed low over her eyes, and the darker haired girl just shrugs, “This is your own fault, princess.”

 

“Rae,” Clarke groans, lips dropping into a pout, blue eyes wide and searching.

 

“Okay, no,” Raven scrunches her eyes, looking away resolutely. “ _No_ , Clarke, because this is something that you need to work out for yourself.”

 

“Can you at least give me a-”

 

“No.” Raven cuts her off, distractedly, serving herself some roast potatoes from the dish in front of her. Octavia takes this as permission to start eating, and immediately dives in, piling her plate with a large assortment of meat and roast vegetables, before smothering the entire thing in gravy.

 

Clarke cringes a little when the brunette digs in, “Please?”

 

“ _No_.”

 

Clarke opens her mouth her mouth again, and it’s Octavia who cuts her off this time. “ _Clarke_ ,” The blonde’s mouth snaps shut. “You’re supposed to be smart, right? Just _think_ about it, you can figure it out.”

 

Clarke gets ready to respond to ask for more help, because - _damnit_ \- she _has_ been thinking about this. It’s been basically the only thing she _has_ thought about since this morning - apart from Lexa, but that was only because the girl had been acting strangely after the lesson - and it’s driving her crazy, that her friends know, and she doesn’t. That they found it so easy to work out, and she just _can’t_.

 

But the blonde doesn’t get a chance to, because just as she opens her mouth to speak, the brunette shoves an entire potato into her mouth.

 

//

 

“I presume that all of you have stewed the _Lacewing flies_ for the adequate amount of time?” The Professor pauses, allowing his gaze to sweep around the classroom expectantly, eyes narrowed as he examines the students. “Is there anybody who has not done so?”

 

There is a moments silence, in which the students fidget awkwardly. Clarke watches her fellow students surreptitiously - she isn’t worried about herself or Lexa, as soon as the name of the potion had slipped out of the Professor’s mouth, three weeks ago, Lexa had opened the book and started crushing _Fluxweed_ and sprinkling salt over the _Lacewing flies_. 

 

A tall boy with - what Clarke assumes is - artfully messy hair, and piercing green eyes steps forwards, his right hand scratching nervously at his light stubble. 

 

“And what excuse do you have for not being prepared, Atom?”

 

“I, uh-” He coughs. “Well, you see, sir, I didn’t read the recipe until last week.”

 

The Professor purses his lips, then tilts his head, eyebrows furrowed. “And what are you going to do now, given that you’ve stewed them for a _third_ of the intended time?”

 

Everyone has taken a step back, leaving Atom on his own in front of the teacher. “I guess I should, I mean- Maybe it would be better if I didn’t make the potion?”

 

“When would you propose you make the potion?”

 

Atom gulps, running a hand through his hair, “When the flies have stewed for the right amount of time.”

 

“I won’t make the class wait on you.” The Professor responds, with a firm shake of the head. “Do you know _why_ we must stew the flies for at least three weeks?”

 

Atom shakes his head, once.

 

The Professor sighs, but Clarke notes that the edges of his lips are twisted up in a small smirk, “You will make the potion with what you have.” 

 

With that, he dismisses the students to their benches. When they get there, Clarke quickly leans towards Lexa, “Why was the Professor smirking earlier?”

 

Lexa hums, dropping five frozen cubes of Arctic water to the cauldron, igniting the fire beneath it with a soft spell and a small flick of her wand.

 

“When he asked Atom what would happen if he used the under-stewed _Lacewing flies_.” Clarke expands, carefully slicing the roots off of three sprigs of _Fluxweed_ , and tying them together with a thin thread.

 

Lexa chuckles, stirring the melting liquid four times, before turning to grin at the blonde. “You should be glad that our bench is so far away from him.” Clarke raises an eyebrow. “ _Lacewing flies_ are very volatile, if you don’t stew them for long enough, they’re liable to explode.”

 

Clarke laughs, turning to smirk at the boy, who is tentatively unscrewing the lid from his jar of _Lacewing flies_.

 

“Do you want to slice up the _Knotgrass_?” Lexa asks, placing two small bundles of it on their shared chopping board.

 

//

 

Atom’s potion doesn’t explode until Clarke and Lexa’s is almost finished. It happens just as Clarke is scooping the last spoonful of crushed _Lacewings_ to the potion, and it makes her jump.

 

They both spin around quickly, and chuckle as a blue-stained Atom emerges from the acrid smoke surrounding his bench. His eyebrows have been singed off, and the Professor regards him for a second with a clenched jaw, before sending him on his way to the medical wing.

 

He tells the rest of the class that he hopes this will serve as a reminder to always come to his lessons fully prepared.

 

//

 

_Anya,_

 

_Yesterday we made Amortentia in class. Clarke asked me what I could smell, and I didn’t tell her. Without you, she’s my only friend here, and I won’t lose her over these feelings. As my parents proved to me - through you - love is weakness, and I can’t be weak like that anymore. I won’t tell her, and hopefully sometime soon I will get over this, because-_

 

“Who’s Anya?” The voice startles Lexa, and she jumps, her quill dragging across the empty bottom half of her parchment, marring the space with a thick black line. She blushes, scrambling to cover it up, to stop Clarke from seeing the words she had sprawled mere moments earlier.

 

“Uh-” Lexa gulps, folding the parchment roughly, and shoving it into the inside pocket of her robes.

 

“Is she that girl I used to always see you around with?” Clarke presses, dumping her bag on the floor as she sits down next to the brunette. “What happened to her anyway? Did she graduate?” She scrunches her eyebrows in thought. “I thought she was in Bell’s year.”

 

Lexa’s eyes burn, and her cheeks hurt, and the fold of the paper digs into her heart.

 

She runs.

 

//

 

Lexa doesn’t show up to dinner that night. Clarke’s friends spend the meal trying to distract her, but Clarke spends most of the evening staring at either the Ravenclaw table or the doors, hoping that the brunette with show up.

 

//

 

“Okay, I was told I couldn’t tell you, so I’m _not_ going to tell you.” Bellamy announces, striding over to Clarke, and flopping down onto the sofa next to her.

 

The blonde pulls her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins, before setting her chin on her knees. “You know who it is, then?” 

 

He nods, offering her a small smile. 

 

She lifts her head up hopefully, “Are you going to-”

 

“No.”

 

Clarke huffs, dropping back down into her previous position.

 

“ _But_ ,” He pauses, waiting for the blonde to look back up at him. “I want to ask you something. You don’t have to answer, just-” He exhales, ruffling his own fringe slightly - a nervous habit of his. “Okay, how many people do you know that like to read?”

 

Clarke tilts her head, wondering where Bellamy is going with this.

 

“How many of them have you spent time outside with?”

 

“Bellamy, what’s-?”

 

“How many of them smell like lavender, Clarke?” The brunette boy smiles softly, laying a warm hand over her shoulder and squeezing. “Just think about it, okay?”

 

//

 

Clarke stares at the flickering green and blue flames in the fireplace. Watching absently as the hot blue centre reaches out, twisting off and disappearing back into the coals, rolling over itself as the outer green tendrils curl over the iron gratings, licking along the smooth stone surrounding them, leaving no visible trace.

 

‘ _How many people do you know that like to read?_ ’

 

Well, that doesn’t exactly narrow it down. Clarke knows plenty of people that enjoy the odd book or two. At least she can cross off her friends, like Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven - god forbid she be in love with any of them. That would just be awkward, given that Octavia is in a very serious relationship with Lincoln, and she’s pretty sure that the other two have some kind of a secret relationship going on.

 

Okay, next question then; ‘ _How many of them have you spent time outside with?_ ’

 

Well, she can knock a good few off her list.

 

A lot of them, actually. Very few of the people that she _knows_ enjoy both the freshness of the outdoors and the musky warmth that is ever present in the library.

 

But-

 

‘ _How many of them smell like lavender?_ ’

 

How in Merlin’s name would Clarke know that? It’s not like she spends her life sniffing everyone she hangs out-

 

The blonde freezes, her mouth dropping open. 

 

 _Oh_.

 

How could she not see this?

 

More importantly, how has Clarke never recognised these feelings before? They seem obvious now; the fluttering of wings in her stomach that appeared with every touch, the creatures that pound the lining of her stomach tirelessly whenever they lean into each other’s space. 

 

The way her cheeks burn when they hug.

 

(The way Clarke can’t help but smile.)

 

Clarke wants to run.

 

 _Hell_ , she wants to apparate up to the tower. Maybe she can convince the portrait to let her through. She could say it was an emergency, because _honestly_ , it feels like it is. And then maybe Clarke could storm in and grab the girl round the shoulders. And hug her. 

 

And laugh, or cry, or- 

 

Or just kiss her.

 

(Clarke’s heart is full - it’s bursting.)

 

And maybe then Clarke would tell her how she feels.

 

Because Clarke is in love, and she wants to-

 

Oh.

 

Clarke slouches back on the sofa, and the energy she had gained from the realisation suddenly saps out of her, because she’s _in love_ with Lexa.

 

 _Clarke_ is in love with Lexa.

 

And she has no idea if Lexa is in love with her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clarke finally figured it out yo
> 
> things are going to start to pick up next chapter #drama


	10. mama, put my guns in the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #drama
> 
> (In which Clarke really should have brought a blanket, because now she has grass all over her butt.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there were people yelling at me to hurry up when i was writing this chapter
> 
> chapter title from 'knocking on heavens door' by bob dylan

Clarke is disappointed when she gets down to breakfast and doesn’t spot the familiar braided brunette hair at the Ravenclaw table, but she figures that the other girl has simply already eaten. Clarke is, after all, late down to breakfast, and she can’t expect everyone to just _know_ that, because, despite all the magic and wands, telepathy isn’t actually a _thing_.

 

So yeah, Clarke’s disappointed, because she wanted to talk to Lexa about what had happened the day before, but she decides that she can do that later, either when they have potions together, or during their free, whichever one she can bring it up in first.

 

//

 

Clarke bounces down the stairs after her Transfiguration lesson; she had managed to properly use the _Crinus Muto_ charm, succeeding in turning her hair and eyebrows bright pink. They had started on the subject of human transfiguration two weeks ago, and it had been taking Clarke longer than it usually does to get used to it. 

 

Human transfiguration is tricky, especially when you’re doing it to yourself, as it adds an extra layer of worry to every spell you attempt. 

 

(On Wednesday, Murphy had turned his hair hot pink as a dare, but it had backfired, because hadn’t been able to change it back. He avoided crowded hallways for the rest of the week, until Bellamy had taken pity on him and reversed the spell - though _he_ claims this was just because he didn’t want Murphy to spend every Quidditch training session sulking instead of focusing.)

 

Clarke is excited to share this news with Lexa when she reaches the dungeons, as the brunette had given her a small tutoring session on the motions and pronunciations for the charm, and Clarke is pretty sure that Lexa is the only reason she was able to pull it off. And yeah, maybe Clarke’s just excited to see the other girl, and wants to use this piece of information to kickstart their conversation. 

 

She’s a little worried about where they stand after what had happened yesterday in the library - she hasn’t seen Lexa since the girl stormed off, and that was over twelve hours ago, so Clarke’s getting kind of antsy. She’s never been one to avoid conflicts, so she really wants to get this sorted out - though she doesn’t really want to think of it as a conflict, because she’s not entirely sure what she did wrong, and maybe Lexa was just in a bad mood and it was actually nothing to do with Clarke.

 

As the blonde reaches the stairs that lead to the dungeons, she frowns, wrinkling her nose at the acrid smell of burning that wafts up. Tentatively, she makes her way down the stone step, trailing her hand down the bannister warily, ready to make a quick reversal of direction should anything strange or dangerous enter her line of sight.

 

The smoke grows thicker as she reaches the bottom of the staircase, the thin tendrils moving and twisting together, creeping up the walls ominously. It makes Clarke's skin itch, and she pulls the neck of her jumper up to cover her nose and mouth. She waves her wand to try and clear some of the smoke, but the fresh air doesn’t last long before the soot seeps back in, obstructing her vision. 

 

There’s loud bang, which comes from the other end of the corridor, and then Clarke’s chest feels too tight. She’s coughing now, and there’s a buzzing in her ears, and the air is too thick with black for her too even make out her own hands, let alone see what the source of the smoke is.

 

She stumbles once, twice, hands flailing in search of some kind of a holding. She doesn’t find one, only succeeding in scratching herself on the rough, exposed bricks of the wall. She thinks can hear someone shouting, but it sounds distant - muted, in a way - and then the light is burning at her eyes, and the suffocating pressure disappears from her lungs.

 

Her ears are still ringing, though.

 

She gasps quickly, inhaling the clean air almost violently, but it gets caught in her throat, and then she’s bent at the hip, hacking, and her throat burns.

 

She feels a hand on her back, and then there’s a searing heat against her temple, and she collapses.

 

//

 

When Clarke comes to, she can’t move her arms or legs. Her head is pounding, and her vision is black, obstructed by a heavy material, which is tied tightly around her face, and digs sharply into the curve of her cheeks. 

 

Clarke shuffles, noting that the object she is tied to is rough, and the air is cool and damp. She tries to struggle against her restraints, to give herself more room to maneuver, but they tighten instead, wrenching on her arms completely behind her, until her wrists are pressed against each other around the back of the objects. Her shoulders pinch and strain with every breath she takes, and her chest feels too small - she can’t get enough air in.

 

“Stop. Struggling will only make this harder for you.” The voice is sharp, vibrating with a sense of strict authority, and Clarke finds herself stopping her actions immediately. “Oh good, you can understand instructions. Don’t worry, it won’t be long until our,” The woman pauses, and then continues in a voice so full of maliciousness and barely concealed anger, that it sends a shiver down Clarke’s spine. “Mutual _friend_ arrives, and then this will all be over.”

 

Clarke tries to open her mouth - to respond, to shout, to protest - but her lips are heavy, and her jaw seems to clench of it’s own accord. Suddenly, her nostrils are assaulted with the overwhelming mix of scents. The woman smells like fire and burning and rain and flowers, and Clarke can’t tell how they mix, but it fills her lungs, and they feel heavy; a dead weight in her taut chest.

 

Fingers appear on her cheeks, and Clarke shudders, “You’re a pureblood, I don’t take pleasure in hurting you.” The fingers disappear, and the woman moves away from the blonde. Clarke gulps at the fresh air. “ _You_ aren’t the problem.”

 

“Mother.”

 

Clarke’s head jolts towards the source of the word, because this is _wrong_ , and she shouldn’t be here, and Clarke doesn’t want her to get hurt.

 

“You should have listened to me.” Her words are as cold as ice.

 

“Mother,” Lexa’s voice is filled with desperation, “ _Please_.”

 

The woman - Lexa’s mother - laughs, viciously, and Clarke clenches her fists.

 

“Maybe we should let your friend in on the situation too.”

 

“No, please, just let her-”

 

Lexa’s voice disappears abruptly, and Clarke barely has time to worry for her friend before the blindfold is ripped from her face. Clarke’s eyes quickly dart over her surroundings - the damp earth, the gnarled roots, the thick trunks of the trees that surround the small clearing - before fixing on the hunched form of Lexa. She is crouched on the floor, fingers clutched around her neck. The brunette’s face is contorted messily, painfully, and her body is convulsing.

 

Clarke shakes her head frantically, struggling desperately against her bonds, and Lexa’s mother smirks.

 

“You know,” She waves her wand, and Lexa collapses to her knees, her breaths deep and grating. “I’m getting the strangest feeling of déjà vu.”

 

//

 

_“Crucio.”_

 

_Lexa’s spine locks. Her blood turns icy, cutting at her from the inside. Her shoulders hunch, her fingers and toes curl in on themselves, and she locks her jaw, trying to will herself not to scream. She won’t give them the satisfaction._

 

_Lexa drops down to one knee, head bent over as she tries to force her way through the pain. She read somewhere that - if you have a strong enough will - you can resist the effects of the curse._

 

_But the pain is unbearable, it feels like there are hot knives, running along her skin. Piercing, and then immediately resealing the wound. It’s consuming, and suddenly Lexa can’t think of anything else. She forgets about Anya - whose broken body is crumpled on the floor, barely breathing, barely alive. She forgets about her parents, she forgets about anything but the fire in her veins, and the scorching of her nerve ends._

 

_She feels like she might explode, or implode, or-_

 

_The pain disappears, replaced with a strong ache; it pervades her muscles and bones and brain, and Lexa grits her teeth._

 

_“Are you going to listen now?” Her mother’s voice is sugary sweet._

 

 _“Please,” Lexa swallows, the word sticking in her throat, lodged in the scars left by years of forced independence. The scars inflicted upon her every time she has ever asked for help. (Eventually she learnt to stop asking). “Just let her go. Please. I’ll come with you, I’ll join the cause, just let her go,_ **_please_ ** _.”_

 

_“Oh, my dear sweet child,” She laughs, and the sound bites at Lexa. “Absolutely not.”_

 

//

 

“As I’m a reasonable sort of person,” Lexa forces herself to contain her scoff, because she knows that it will force her mother’s hand, “I’m going to give you two options.”

 

“What do you want, mother?” Lexa’s tone is defeated, she hangs her head, as though waiting for her mother to attack.

 

“Well, option one, I let this delightful little soul go,” She smiles broadly, “And you come with me, and join our cause.”

 

Lexa grits her teeth.

 

“Option two, I let you both go,” She begins, the edges of her lips curling up into a smirk. “But she suffers the same fate as that other girl.”

 

“Anya,” Lexa mumbles under her breath, her eyes staring - unfocused - at the the earth beneath her mother’s feet. “No.”

 

Clarke moves desperately against her restraints, but it only serves to pull her arms further around the tree. The sudden jolt drags the bare skin of her forearms against the rough bark of the tree, ripping at her flesh. She feels something warm drip down her arms, pooling in her clenched fists.

 

“Let her go,” The brunette pleads from her position on the forest floor, “You can have me, just let her _go_.”

 

Lexa’s mother laughs, then swoops forwards, pressing the tip of her wand against the middle of her daughter’s forehead. The brunette’s body freezes, but her eyes flicker frantically between the woman towering over her, and Clarke, who’s struggling in her position against the tree.

 

“Let’s hear what your friend has to say, shall we?” She turns her wand over to Clarke, and Lexa’s eyes widen, but she can’t move. She tries to speak, but her jaw is clamped shut.

 

Clarke gasps, mouth dropping open, finally free from its invisible restraints. “Lexa,” Her voice is hoarse, raspier than she has ever heard it, and she thinks that might, in part, be leftover effects of the smoke earlier. She coughs, trying to clear any remaining soot from her throat. “Lexa, are you okay?” She turns her head to look at the woman again, “Please, let her go. She doesn’t deserve this.”

 

“Oh?” Lexa’s mother seems amused, she turns to look at the crumpled brunette by her feet, “And what option would you suggest, child?”

 

Clarke clenches her jaw, swallowing heavily, “Take me instead.”

 

“No!”

 

Lexa springs up, somehow free from the curse her mother had put on her. The woman doesn’t even turn around, dropping Lexa to the floor with another burst of red light, her eyes never leaving Clarke’s face.

 

“And why would I want you? What could you possibly-”

 

“My father is the Minister of Magic, you can use me to get anything you want.”

 

//

 

_“Take me.” The girl begs from her position on the damp floor of the basement, “Let Lexa leave. Please, she doesn’t deserve this.”_

 

_Lexa’s parents laugh, “So you think we shouldn’t punish our own child?”_

 

_“She hasn’t done anything-”_

 

_She cuts off, curling up around her stomach, crying out in pain._

 

_“Please, stop!” Lexa’s crying as she tries to push her way towards her friend, but her father just laughs, flicking his wand. Roots burst through the cracked concrete, curling their way around her ankles, like snakes._

 

_“I’m going to give you two options, child,” Lexa’s mother smirks, “Either I let your friend go, and you come with us,”_

 

_Her father steps forwards, grinning sadistically at her, “Or we let you both go.”_

 

_Lexa’s eyes flicker between the crumpled body of her friend, and her parents, who are both smiling ominously, “What’s the catch?”_

 

_“Catch?” Her mother asks, innocently, her eyebrows raised, as though she is shocked Lexa would think such a thing of her. “Who says there’s a catch?”_

 

_“There’s always a catch.”_

 

_Her mother manages to keep up the charade for another few seconds, before her lips curl into a sneer. “Make a decision, child, I don’t have all day.”_

 

 _“_ **_We_ ** _don’t have all day,” Her father interjects, glancing nervously at the door behind the brunette._

 

_“Will you kill her?” She directs the question at her mother._

 

_“No.”_

 

_“Hurry up,” Her father urges the brunette, then turns to her mother, murmuring something in her ear. She waves him off, focusing her eyes back on Lexa._

 

_“Well?” Lexa’s mother prompts, raising an eyebrow expectantly._

 

_“The second one,” Lexa looks over at her friend, “Let us go.”_

 

_“Oh, dear child,” Her mother sighs, “I was so hoping that you would be smarter than that.”_

 

_She turns, quickly disarming her husband, before shooting a burst of green light at him. He falls to the ground with a dull thud, his skin tinged grey. Then her mother swiftly strides over to the girl in the corner of the room, and Lexa struggles against the roots, which tighten around her ankles at the movement._

 

_“No! You said you wouldn’t-”_

 

_“My dear, I am not going to kill her.” Her mother smiles, looking back up at her daughter. “But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a catch.”_

 

//

 

_When the Aurors stormed in - not fifteen minutes later - they had found Lexa’s father lying dead in the middle of the room. Lexa was in the corner, hunched over a limp body._

 

_She kept murmuring the name ‘Anya’ between every breath, cradling the girl to her chest as sobs wracked her thin frame. The girl - her identity was later confirmed to be that of ‘Anya Reed’ - was taken to hospital. The medical staff did everything they could - specialised doctors were called in from America and Bulgaria - but they declared the mental damage to be too great._

 

_Miss Reed fell into a coma. Her vitals had improved rapidly, but her body refused to wake up. A machine is used to keep her heart beating._

 

//

 

“What’s stopping me from just killing you right now?”

 

“You wouldn’t gain anything.” Clarke states simply, eyes fixed on Lexa, who is crumpled on the floor. She knows that the brunette is still alive - her chest keeps rising and falling softly - but she is worried. “If you keep me alive, you can get what you want.”

 

“And what is it you believe I want?”

 

“Money, or power.” Clarke offers, “It doesn’t matter. My father can get you whatever you need.”

 

She smirks, then turns to the brunette, flicking her wand over the girl’s limp body. Roots burst through the soft earth, curling around Lexa like claws. They snake around her wrists and ankles, pulling them down. Then she turns back to the blonde, releasing her. 

 

Clarke stumbles forwards, tripping over, and falling to her hands and knees. Her shoulders ache, but she pushes herself up, regardless. 

 

“You know, for a second there I actually considered just letting her go.” Clarke’s eyes go wide as the woman raises her wand to point at Lexa, “But then I came back to my senses,”

 

“No!” Clarke pushes herself up, her hand moving inside her robes instinctively, searching for her wand.

 

“ _Avada Ke_ -”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls don't kill me
> 
> THE CHAPTER DESCRIPTION WAS MO'S IDEA


	11. turn your back on mother nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'everybody wants to rule the world' and its not by lorde, but i really recommend her version it is a++++++++++++++
> 
> enjoy :)

“ _Avada Ke-_ ”

 

Clarke dives forwards, wrapping her arms around the woman’s legs and driving her shoulder forwards. The woman cuts off midway through the phrase, falling backwards at the assault. The wand slips out of her grasp, flying backwards into the dense shrubbery that surrounds them. 

 

They hit the ground together. Clarke tries to fumble upwards, to get a more secure hold on her, but the older woman kicks her leg up, forcing the blonde away. Clarke grunts at the force of the kick, rolling over and sticking out her arm to protect herself. 

 

Lexa’s mother pushes herself up, slowly, crouching momentarily as she tries to regain her balance. Clarke panics, hurriedly scanning the ground in front of her for anything that she can use as a weapon. She spots a thick sort of branch, just within reach. It’s bark is dark brown, cracked, and it looks like it has been torn from a tree.

 

She hears a growl from the other woman, low and hungry - it would surely be inaudible if they weren’t in such an isolated place - and she spins around, swinging the branch blindly. Lexa’s mother grunts as the thick wood connects with her stomach, and Clarke pulls back, using the branch to push herself up. 

 

“You should not have done that,” The other woman snarls, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

 

“Please,” Clarke swallows, “I don’t want to-“ Clarke breaks off, ducking as the woman runs at her with a fist raised. 

 

Clarke lifts up the stick quickly, holding it in front of herself, in an attempt to keep the woman away from her. When it becomes clear to Clarke that Lexa’s mother won’t back down, she swings with the branch. But she miscalculates, the momentum carries her past her opponent, and she stumbles to the floor.

 

Lexa’s mother cackles and moves towards the blonde. Clarke grabs a handful of dirt, and turns, flinging it in the other woman’s face. As the woman coughs, brushing at her face with her hand, Clarke clambers back to her feet, breathing heavily.

 

“Why do you want to do this?” The two of them face each other off, Clarke making sure that she is positioned between Lexa and the woman. “Why do you want to hurt your own daughter?”

 

The woman furrows her brow, “She should have listened to me. She was supposed to join our cause, but instead she befriended a _mudblood_ ,” The word seems poisonous to her. When she says it, she scrunches her face, swallowing as though it left a bad taste in her mouth. “They’re polluting our bloodline - our purity, as wizards - and I will not stand by idly and let them.”

 

Clarke frowns, how can this woman speak like this. How can she act as though muggles learning magic is a greater crime than killing them? As though this convoluted cause is somehow more important her own daughter’s life?

 

“Some of the greatest wizards in the world are muggles.” 

 

The woman sneers, “Muggles can never be wizards. They are the enemy - they can never understand our ways. They can never be like us.”

 

“Us?” Clarke retorts, disbelievingly, “They _are_ us. We’re all people, we all deserve to live.”

 

“All _they_ do is survive. They can never live the way _we_ can. Without magic, they’re nothing.” 

 

“Maybe that’s good.” Clarke swallows, gritting her teeth. “Maybe it’s good that they’ll never see what monsters magic makes of us.”

 

The blonde hears a snarl, followed by the scrape of metal on metal, and suddenly Lexa’s mother is brandishing a knife. Clarke takes a step back, and the woman smirks ominously at her.

 

“If you’re a mudblood sympathiser,” The woman growls, swiping at Clarke with the blade, “Then you might as well be one of them.”

 

On the woman’s next swing, Clarke dodges to the side, and grabs her wrist, forcing the knife out of her hand. The weapon falls to the ground, clattering against the exposed roots. Clarke shoves the woman backwards, but her arm is caught by a flailing hand, and she’s pulled down to the ground too. 

 

They fumble for the better position. 

 

Clarke yelps as fingernails scrape at her forehead, drawing blood, and the other woman uses her momentary distraction due to pain to flip them, settling over Clarke with a small sneer on her face.

 

“We have let them live among us for far too long,” Lexa’s mother declares, bracing her forearm against Clarke’s neck as she reaches for the knife, before pointing the curved blade at her face. “Change is necessary.”

 

Clarke pulls at the arm against her throat, grappling it with her left hand, struggling desperately for air. Her right hand swipes at the ground around her.

 

Her fingers close around the jagged, cool surface of a rock, and she swings it at the woman’s head. It collides with her skull, just above her eye, with a vicious crack, and her body crumples over Clarke’s. The blonde pushes her off, then gasps when she’s attacked by a sharp pain to her abdomen. 

 

She looks over at the body of Lexa’s mother, and her eyes widen when she notices the woman’s bloodstained hand. She drops her hand to her stomach - the source of her pain - and pulls away quickly when she feels a sticky liquid. She lifts her hand towards her face, swallowing thickly when she sees the blood that now covers it.

 

Clarke looks down at her side, noticing the scarlet blade resting in the dirt. It’s handle is crooked, made of a twisted, white material - Clarke thinks that it might be bone - and it’s blade is dark and curled like a scythe.

 

She can see Lexa at the other end of the clearing, still restrained by thick roots, and begins to crawl towards her.

 

She barely makes it halfway before she blacks out.

 

//

 

Lexa wakes to the feel of the roots - which had been wrapped around her limbs - retracting, and she sits up. Her head spins momentarily, but it quickly clears when she spots a mass of blonde hair.

 

“Clarke,” The brunette whimpers, crawling towards the blonde’s body. “Clarke, _please_.”

 

Clarke rolls over, onto her back, and Lexa gasps. The blonde’s stomach is stained red, the cloth of her shirt is wet and sticks to her skin. Lexa searches frantically for an open wound, and barely manages to stifle her cry when she sees it. There’s a deep, jagged puncture just below her ribs, and the brunette jolts forwards, pressing her hands against the wound, trying desperately to stem the blood flow.

 

Her breath stutters, catching in her chest, when a hand covers hers. It’s warm, sticky and wet from the blood, but it gives her the strength needs to look up at the blonde’s face. Wet blue eyes meet hers, and Lexa gulps.

 

“Clarke,” She murmurs. The blonde grunts as she tries to move into a more upright position, but Lexa quickly shakes her head, pushing against her shoulder. “Save your strength.”

 

“Lex,” The name is little more than the movement of Clarke’s lips against air, barely audible. The brunette leans forwards slightly, lifting one of her hands up to cup the blonde’s cheek. Clarke nuzzles into her palm, closing her eyes. Lexa pushes harder against the wound.

 

“I don’t know what to do.” Lexa admits, and she feels Clarke’s hand weakly squeeze hers in response. 

 

Clarke leans her head back, and the brunette slips her hand around to cup it, trying to support her in any way possible.

 

“Do you have a wand?” Lexa shakes her head mutely, “Right- Uh, hold on,” She brings her other hand around to press against the wound as well. “Your mother’s- her wand fell into those bushes.”

 

Lexa doesn’t want to remove her hand from the wound - she doesn’t want to leave Clarke’s side, even just for a moment - but Clarke’s eyes are full of need and sincerity, and Lexa knows that she has to. She needs Clarke to stay alive.

 

She withdraws slowly, allowing the blonde’s hands to cover the wound, replacing her own. Lexa stands, moving over to the bushes Clarke had indicated. She scans them - once, twice - but she doesn’t notice the wand until her third look. 

 

She rushes back to the blonde - keeping her eyes away from the crumpled, bloody figure of her mother - the thin wand clasped tightly in her fist.

 

“Clarke?” The blonde opens her eyes a fraction, forcing a small smile onto her face. “I have it.”

 

“Okay, uh, do you remember that spell I cast-“ She pauses, clenching her jaw briefly, “Uh, that I cast on you the morning after the party?”

 

“The one that got rid of my headache?” Clarke nods, once. “Yeah.”

 

“It’s an anaesthetic-“ She breaks off again, her face dropping into a grimace as she presses harder into her bleeding stomach. “It dulls the pain, just- please.” 

 

Lexa’s eyes are stinging, and her hand is shaking as she holds the tip of the wound over Clarke’s wound.

 

//

 

_“Promise that you’ll never leave me, Anya.”_

 

_“I promise, kid.”_

 

//

 

Lexa draws a small star with her trembling hand, murmuring the incantation under her breath. The tip of her wand glows a faint gold, and she frowns - wasn’t it brighter when Clarke has cast the spell? - but she presses it against the blonde’s wound regardless.

 

Clarke hisses slightly when the tip of the wand makes contact with her bleeding side, but she quickly relaxing, leaning back into Lexa’s hold.

 

Lexa stops, searching her mind for possible remedies. 

 

“Just seal it, Lex,” Clarke tells her through gritted teeth, “There isn’t much else you _can_ do.”

 

Lexa nods, resolved, and casts the healing spell. Clarke’s pale skin stretches over the wound, binding and knitting together. The brunette - noticing the other girl’s barely concealed pain - casts a second anaesthetic charm, and Clarke sighs in relief.

 

“Thank-” There’s a small amount of shuffling, and she breaks off, staring wide eyed behind Lexa.

 

The brunette whips around, her breath catching as she sees her mother beginning to stir. She glances quickly back at the blonde, taking in her blood stained shirt, the bruises that litter her exposed skin, the small scratch above her eyebrow.

 

She turns back around.

 

//

 

 _“You’ve got to_ **_mean_ ** _it.” Her mother sneers, firing off another curse with just a small flick of her wand. Lexa sobs as she watches another burst of red light hit her friend. Anya groans through her clenched teeth, and Lexa sobs, begging her mother to stop. Begging her mother to hurt her instead, because Anya doesn’t deserve this._

 

 _“You’ve got to really_ **_want_ ** _them to suffer.”_

 

//

 

Lexa’s knuckles are white, the blood gone due to the force with which she is gripping the wand. She tries to will her arm not to shake.

 

She doesn’t look back at Clarke - she can’t.

 

Instead, her eyes are fixed on her mother’s crumpled form. Her face is red, and bloodied, and the red liquid has dripped down, staining the top of her shirt.

 

Lexa doesn’t hesitate. 

 

She fires a burst of red light at the woman - she can’t even bear to think about their relationship to each other, she can’t bear to think about the fact that this woman is her mother - and her body collapses inwards. 

 

Lexa feels exhilarated - lighter than she’s felt since the day they took Anya.

 

Then she grits her teeth, “This is for Anya.”

 

The force of the curse pushes the woman’s body backwards, slinging her haphazardly over the gnarled roots, like a rag doll.

 

Clarke whimpers behind her, and Lexa freezes. Her grip on the wand slackens, and she hurries back to the blonde’s side, dropping to her knees.

 

She glances over at her mother’s limp body, then waves her wand, staring blankly as roots fasten over the woman’s limbs. 

 

She turns back to Clarke, “You’re okay,” She whispers, more to herself than to the blonde, “I won’t let her hurt you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ......so there's that
> 
> i found the fight scene kinda difficult to write, so i hope it turned out okay (?)
> 
> i thought this was going to take ages, but i had no wifi over the weekend, so i pumped it out fairly quickly. sorry that its so chart, but i couldn't think of anything to add in that wasn't supposed to be in another chapter, and i didn't want to mess with my chapter plan


	12. i am the only lonely casualty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'hercules' by sara barreilles
> 
> alternative title: 'don't you dare look out your window (darling everything's on fire)'  
> from 'safe and sound' by tswizz and the civil wars

Clarke’s mouth is dry when she wakes up. Her lips are cracked, and they stick together awkwardly, and her throat feels like it’s full of cotton.

 

There’s a dull throb in her head too - as though the pounding of her blood in her veins is echoing throughout her skull, reverberating against her bones. She tries to sit up, but her head feels heavy - weighted - and her muscles are tired, and there’s a sharp pain just below her ribs.

 

She can hear voices, but they seem distant, or muted, or something. As though she’s standing at the other end of a field, and they’re yelling at her, and she tries to move closer, to run to the other person, but her feet aren’t working, and they seem to be getting quieter and farther away, and Clarke’s struggling, but she just can’t _move_.

 

And then Clarke feels something warm and soft press against her forehead, and everything stills. There’s a new voice now, low and comforting, and Clarke can’t hear what they’re saying, but she suddenly feels a lot lighter.

 

But the warmth disappears, and Clarke almost shivers, but she can’t, and she wants to call out, to ask the person to come back, because they made everything feel better, but she _can’t_ , and she kind of wants to cry because they’re gone, and everything feels colder and Clarke still can’t _move_.

 

And Clarke kind of wants to cry, but she can’t even do _that_.

 

//

 

The next time Clarke wakes up, the pain in her head has lessened. 

 

(Her mouth still tastes like cotton.

 

She still can’t move.)

 

//

 

The third time she wakes up, the ache in her head is almost gone. Her stomach still hurts, but the pain is small, and - if she focuses closely on trying to decipher the murmurs around her - she can almost forget about it. 

 

There’s something warm resting on her leg - a hand, she thinks, absently - and it curls around her shin, stroking comfortingly. The left end of her bed is lower than the right hand side, dipping under the weight of someone, and the voices are louder now.

 

She can’t make out the actual words; just sounds. 

 

Just a sense of their feelings.

 

They’re worried, she thinks. She can’t hear what it is that they’re worried about. Clarke recognises the soft, almost musical lilt to one of the voices - Octavia - and a deeper voice responds (She thinks _that_ is Bellamy). 

 

She hears Raven’s voice follow - trying to soothe the worry present in the other’s minds - and frowns when she doesn’t hear Lexa. 

 

Then she freezes, bringing her eyebrows down into a frown and scrunching her nose up experimentally. 

 

She almost laughs in relief.

 

Clarke’s eyelids flutter open, slowly, and the harsh lights above her sting her eyes. She shuts them again, groaning slightly.

 

This noise, though small and barely audible, immediately halts the conversation her friends had been having. She hears movement - the shuffling of feet on the wooden flooring, the creak of the bed as the person jumps up, the crinkle of the duvet as hands and bodies shift - and suddenly there’s a shadow over her face.

 

She scrunches her eyes further shut for a second, then tentatively opens one. 

 

The first things that Clarke sees are her friend’s faces, each plastered with small, hopeful smiles. 

 

(And she shouldn’t be disappointed that Lexa isn’t among them, but she can’t help it, and she is.)

 

“Clarke?”

 

The small question, tinged with concern and a tentative kind of softness, sparks the rest of them. Their words follow in a mess of overlapping remarks, and Clarke struggles to understand any of them.

 

“How’s your head?”

 

“And your stomach?”

 

“It was a pretty nasty-”

 

“We weren’t sure how well you-”

 

“-and it was really deep-”

 

“-because apparently it caught your lungs-”

 

“-and we were all terrified when the headmaster told us what had-”

 

“-I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lexa that scared-”

 

“-and there were Aurors _everywhere_ -”

 

“ _Guys_ ,” Clarke interrupts, in a slightly raised voice - which actually _really_ hurts, so no way is she trying that again - and they all pause, looking expectantly at her. “How long was I out?”

 

Bellamy looks over at Raven, who nods stiffly, and he turns back to Clarke.

 

“Three weeks.”

 

//

 

Clarke’s mother comes to see her later that day, just as the painkillers are starting to make her drowsy again. She hovers awkwardly in the doorway, worrying her bottom lip between sharp teeth, her eyes flitting over her daughter’s tired body.

 

After a couple of seconds, she steps forwards, once, pushing herself in the room. Clarke tilts her head to the side, making eye contact with the other woman.

 

“Clarke,” She begins, moving swiftly and more confidently towards her daughter’s bedside, “I thought I told you to stay out of trouble.”

 

The blonde clenches her jaw, turning her head away, “I was.” Her voice is cracked, and her mother immediately offers her a glass of water. Clarke refuses.

 

“Making friends with that Woods girl?” Abby furrows her brow, “I wouldn’t call that ‘staying out of trouble’.”

 

“Lexa is a good-” 

 

“ _Lexa_ is the daughter of two death eaters.”

 

“We aren’t our parents.” Clarke retorts through gritted teeth.

 

“Evidently,” She drawls, “Because if you were anything like _me_ , you would have known that death eaters don’t breed good kids.”

 

Clarke’s eye twitches, and she stares resolutely at the wall, refusing to acknowledge anything her mother says.

 

“That Woods girl is trouble,” Abby states, with a grim sense of finality, “And you’re going to stay away from her.”

 

//

 

“Where’s Lexa?” Clarke finally asks, two days later.

 

Her question causes an immediate silence. Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven all glance at each other, and Clarke can’t quite decipher the look they share - her mind is still fuzzy - but a strange kind of tension drops over the room. 

 

She clenches her jaw, looking between her friends meaningfully.

 

Bellamy is the first to break.

 

“She’s kinda-” He cuts off, clearing his throat. He looks over at Raven again, nervously, and Clarke swallows. “She’s at the Ministry.”

 

The blonde furrows her brow, eyeing her friends through narrowed eyes. “Why?”

 

“She, uh-” Bellamy reaches up, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s her mother’s trial today. She has to make a statement.” He finishes, bluntly.

 

Clarke sits up quickly, and flinches at the sharp pain in her stomach, but waves away her friends hands as they try to push her back into a lying down position. “I need to see her.”

 

The injured girl’s words are harsh, breathy, and they are spoken through clenched teeth as she tries to mask her own pain.

 

“Clarke-”

 

She shakes her head, “That woman abused her for years, how can they ask her to-” A cough cuts up through her chest, and it feels as though, for a moment, her chest is burning. 

 

She doesn’t notice Raven rushing through the doorway.

 

She doesn’t see her come back with two nurses behind her.

 

Clarke blacks out with images of red and green flashes searing her closed eyelids.

 

//

 

“They’ve sent her to Azkaban,” Bellamy relays grimly, dropping a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ onto Clarke’s duvet covered lap. She glances down, and grimaces when her gaze is met with the smirking face of Lexa’s mother, as she is dragged away by Ministry officials. She flips the paper over. “For life, apparently.” He drops into the seat by her, stretching out his legs. “They snapped her wand and everything.”

 

Clarke nods, staring blankly at the doorway.

 

She wonders why - with the trial now over - Lexa still hasn’t visited her.

 

//

 

Clarke wakes in the middle of the night. She’s covered by a sheen of sweat, which is making her clothes stick to her body, and her heart is rattling inside her chest, pounding against her already pained ribs.

 

She quickly glances around, making sure that no one had seen her in her weakened haze. Her room is dark, but there’s light slipping in from underneath her doorway.

 

It’s been over a week since she first woke up, and the trial finished three days ago. She still hasn’t seen Lexa, and it’s becoming a huge source of agitation for her. Her friends, Bellamy, Octavia, and Raven - on occasion, Lincoln comes as well, but his visits are far less frequent - try to distract her, but they have little success.

 

Clarke hears a soft groan, and a small squeak of movement from her right, and her eyes immediately dart in that direction.

 

There’s a sofa pressed against the wall, and a shadowy figure is hunched into a ball on it. The piece of furniture is clearly too small for the person, as their limbs are folded awkwardly in their attempt to fit properly.

 

Clarke squints, leaning forwards as she tries to figure out who the person is.

 

She misjudges her position on the bed, and squeaks as she begins to slide off of the side of the bed. Her hand shoots out, trying to find purchase on the solid wood of her bedside table, but she grabs her tray of dinner dishes instead. She manages to steady herself - barely - but is unable to stop the tray from falling to the floor.

 

Clarke mutters a small curse as the dishes clatter noisily against the wooden floorboards, and the figure on the bed jumps up, smacking their head into the armrest.

 

The door slams open, and light fills the room abruptly. 

 

Clarke blinks as the harsh brightness burns at her eyes. It takes her a moment to ground herself, but as soon as her eyesight clears, she glances back over at the sofa by the wall.

 

The only things there are a crumpled blanket and a pillow on the floor.

 

//

 

The next night, Clarke feigns sleep as the nurse comes for her final check up. She keeps up the facade when the nurse leaves, turning out the light and closing the door.

 

After almost an hour, Clarke starts to think that the person isn’t going to show, and is just beginning to drift off, when the door creaks open. The blonde stiffens, but she remains still and tries to regulate her breathing, so as to keep up the appearance of sleep.

 

She hears the click of the lock as the door closes, and then the shuffling of feet across the floorboards. Clarke waits until she hears the person sink down onto the sofa before she rolls over. She hears a sharp intake of breath, and the sofa squeaks as the person jumps up. 

 

Clarke grabs her wand off of the bedside table, and quickly turns on the lights. 

 

She frowns at the familiar head of brunette hair, “Lexa?”

 

The blonde furrows her brow when she sees the other girl’s shoulders scrunch up. Clarke grunts as she moves into a more upright position, settling on her elbows and staring at the other girl.

 

“Lex?” The brunette turns slightly, but still doesn’t face Clarke. “Are you alright?”

 

Clarke sees the bob of the other girl’s throat as she swallows, and frowns. The light coming from the ceiling illuminates the high arch of Lexa’s cheekbones, and the blonde watches the emotionless mask flicker into place.

 

“I’m fine, Clarke.”

 

Clarke nods, not entirely believing the other girl, but knowing that it wasn’t the right time to push. “I heard about the trial,” She says instead, “They shouldn’t have made you testify. Not after what she-”

 

“And who else could have testified?” Lexa snaps, finally turning to look at the blonde. Her brows cast heavy shadows over her eyes, and her face is pinched. “You?” She scoffs, “You were in a _coma_ , Clarke. And Anya-”

 

The brunette’s voice cracks, and she looks away again.

 

“And they found out about what I did.” She continues, monotonously. Clarke frowns, and Lexa swallows heavily, “They know that I cast an unforgivable-”

 

“Lexa-”

 

“They gave me a choice,” Lexa finishes, quickly cutting the blonde off, “Either I testify, or they put me on trial too.”

 

Clarke sighs, “Lexa-”

 

“I’m a monster, Clarke.”

 

“You are _not_ a monster.” The blonde retorts firmly, “You’re one of the kindest people I know.”

 

“I used a _Cruciatus_ curse.” 

 

“Your mother tried to _kill_ you.”

 

“And I reacted by torturing her.” She scoffs, “I really am my mother’s daughter.”

 

“Hey,” Clarke pushes herself up, trying to move closer to the brunette, but Lexa moves over, pushing her back down. Clarke snags the brunette’s hand, “You are _nothing_ like your mother.”

 

“Clarke,”

 

“You got through it,” She continues, “We _both_ got through it.”

 

“I don’t care about me.” Lexa replies, “I just wanted you to survive.”

 

Clarke swallows heavily, twisting the brunette’s hand between her own, “Maybe life should be about more than _just_ surviving.” She tentatively links their fingers together, “Don’t we deserve better than that?”

 

Lexa stares at their joined hands, clenching her jaw, “Maybe we do.” She whispers, the words catching in her throat.

 

Then she clears her throat, dropping the blonde’s hand quickly. “I should go.” She makes her way towards the door.

 

“Will you come back tomorrow?” Lexa pauses, her hand on the door handle, “Please?”

 

The brunette nods, and then the door creaks, and she’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another fun fun chapter
> 
> i hope you all know i could have been (and almost was) a hell of a lot meaner


	13. you're out of reach (wrong place, wrong time)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title from 'tokyo' by lianne la havas
> 
> major thanks to lil puppy ray (@onemilliongoldstars) for being lovely and dealing with me as this chapter kicked my ass.  
> i rewrote it four times. so, despite it being basically the shortest chapter so far, its probably taken me the longest :/

Clarke’s head is throbbing.

 

The medics have no idea why their attempts at cures haven’t been working, and Clarke really just wants them to _shut up_ and give her something to soothe the pain, because evidently they can’t get rid of it completely. Her mother hasn’t been helping matters much, since she stormed in ten minutes ago, and started ranting about how one of her ‘nurse friends’ had seen Lexa leaving her room last night, and how she though Clarke understood that she should be staying away from ‘that girl’.

 

Clarke lifts up her hand to rub at her temple, briefly shutting her eyes as she exhales harshly through her nose.

 

“That _girl_ is the reason you got injured in the first place!” Her mother growls, her face twisted into a scowl as she glares at her daughter.

 

“That _girl_ is one of my best friends,” Clare retorts, finally snapping, “And maybe it’s a good thing that I ended up in here, given that this is the longest conversation I’ve had with you in nearly three years.”

 

This makes her mother hesitate, and she stares blankly at Clarke, “What do you mean?”

 

The blonde clenches her jaw, looking away from Abby, “Ever since dad died, you’ve just-” She huffs, running her hand through her hair, “You’re never there for me. You work _all_ the time. When’s the last time you came home for the holidays, or wrote to me? Merlin, when’s the last time you even gave me a birthday present?”

 

“Clarke, I’ve told you, my work is-”

 

“Important?” The blonde scoffs, “And what about me, mum? Am I _important_ to you?”

 

“You’re my daughter, of _course_ you’re important to me.” Abby swallows, stepping forwards, “Your father’s death is still-” The breath hisses out of her through clenched teeth, like air being let out of a balloon, and Abby deflates, “It’s hard for me to live without him.”

 

“And you don’t think it’s hard for me too?” Clarke retorts, “He was my _dad_. I never even got to say goodbye.” Her eyes are stinging, and she closes them, trying to hold back the tears, “You didn’t even tell me he was in hospital.”

 

“I thought I could save him-” Abby begins, but Clarke cuts her off.

 

“But you _didn’t_.” Her mother’s eyes are wet with unshed tears, “Can you leave? I have a headache, and I’d like to sleep.”

 

Abby swallows and furrows her brows, casting low shadows over her glistening eyes, but she makes no move to leave. She raises a hand as though to reach for Clarke, but rethinks partway through the action, and her hand hovers there for a moment, fingers curling slightly in the air.

 

Clarke doesn’t acknowledge the woman’s action. Instead, she rolls onto her uninjured side, facing away from Abby, and closes her eyes with a heavy exhale. The blonde hears the shuffling of feet, and then the click of metal on metal, before the movement stops.

 

“I hope someday you realise that I only want the best for you.”

 

Clarke doesn’t respond, and she hears her mother sigh before the door swings open and shut. She doesn’t want to admit it, but the words lodge in her chest, pulling at her already heavy heart.

 

//

 

_“Lexa, my darling,” Clarke grits her teeth at the sickly sweet voice, her eyes focused on the brunette, who is hunched into a ball on the floor. “I’m going to give you two choices,”_

 

 _“Mother,_ **_please_ ** _,”_

 

_“Either I kill you, and let the girl go,” She drawls, eyes examining her wand with a strange kind of apathy, as though she was discussing what they were going to eat for dinner, and not threatening her own daughter’s life. “Or I kill the girl, and let you turn me in.”_

 

_Clarke struggles against her bindings, her eyes wide and desperate._

 

_Lexa manages to get to her knees, resting shakily on them as she stares are the damp leaves that cover the springy earth of the forest floor._

 

_Then she tilts her head up, staring defiantly up at her mother, “Kill me.”_

 

_There’s a flash of green light, then a muted thud as Lexa hits the floor. Clarke struggles desperately. Her chest constricts, and shudders with the force of her sobbing._

 

_The last thing she sees is the other girl’s vacant, unseeing eyes, left wide open in her death._

 

//

 

Clarke wakes up covered in sweat. Her fingers clenched in wrinkled blankets, and her breath shooting violently out of her lungs.

 

She can hear someone calling her name, distantly. And she can feel the heat of a hand, clasped tightly around her shoulder.  She doesn’t want to open her eyes - doesn't want to face reality - because she isn’t ready for any of it to be true. 

 

Her mind is hazy, filled with an almost impenetrable fog, and the only thing that she can remember clearly is the way Lexa had faced her mother, and told the woman to kill her. All she can remember is Lexa’s broken body on the forest floor.

 

Then a soft hand presses against her cheek, “Clarke.”

 

The blonde’s eyes feel heavy, and her lashes stick together as she opens them. Her breath stutters in her chest at the sight of familiar green eyes, currently will with a frantic kind of concern.

 

“Lexa,” The word is soft, barely audible. It’s full of air and relief, and Clarke thinks that a name has never sounded so good on her lips. “ _Lexa_ , thank god,”

 

And Clarke doesn’t even realise that she’s crying until she feels Lexa’s other hand move to cup her free cheek, and the girl swipes them away with her thumbs. Then Lexa is pulling the blonde into a hug, her arms wrapping securely around Clarke’s waist. Clarke melts into the embrace, burying her face into the crook of the girl’s neck.

 

They stay like that for a while - with Lexa’s hands rubbing comfortingly at Clarke’s back, and the blonde pressing herself ever closer, trying desperately to reassure herself that Lexa is here, and alive, and _here_ \- until the blonde’s tears have subsided into soft breaths into the skin of Lexa’s neck.

 

“Please tell me this isn’t a dream.” Clarke whispers into Lexa’s shoulder, her voice cracked and raw. “Please tell me you’re real.”

 

Lexa pulls back, reaching her hands up to cup the blonde’s cheek again. Clarke’s eyes are fixed on the other girl’s green ones. 

 

(She’s afraid to look away, in case the girl disappears, because the blonde doesn’t think she could handle losing her.

 

Not again.)

 

And then Lexa is shifting closer, her lips shaping soft reassurances and her thumbs start up their slow, repetitive stroking again. Clarke stares at the other girl, not quite hearing her words, but feeling the comforting and reassuring nature of them roll over her, and it warms her. It’s amazing to her that this girl has changed so much in the short course of them knowing each other.

 

Clarke doubts that the Lexa she had first become friends with, almost two months ago, would have been the type of girl who goes cloud gazing instead of studying, or who sneaks into a hospital room in the middle of the night, and comforts her in the aftermath of her nightmares.

 

“Clarke?” Lexa whispers, tentatively, and Clarke realises that she’s just been staring at the brunette in silence. And, _god_ , Lexa sounds so vulnerable, and Clarke kind of wants to pull back, to tell explicitly how she feels. Clarke wants to hug her, because Lexa’s hugs are always so warm and comforting, and she loves the way the other girl melts into them with a soft sigh. And she loves the way that Lexa’s head will burrow its way into the crook of her neck after a few seconds, and the girls hands will clench at the back of her robes.

 

Instead, the blonde raises her hand, gently pressing it against the warm skin of Lexa’s cheek, and the girl closes her eyes, leaning into the touch.

 

And maybe it should be enough, that small touch, but Clarke’s heart is still fighting to break out of her chest, and flashes of green light and vacant eyes are still spinning through her mind on an endless loop, and Clarke just needs more, so she tilts her head up to meet the other girl, and-

 

And it snowed the first time Clarke stayed with the Blake’s for Christmas. Clarke was twelve, and she spent most of the morning playing in the garden with Bellamy and Octavia, while their parents had cooked. They built a snowman, using Clarke’s hat and Bellamy’s gloves as decoration. When they had come inside, they were all pink nosed and shivering, but they were greeted by steaming mugs of hot chocolate. For Clarke, there is nothing better than a mug of hot chocolate on a cold day. It thaws you out from the inside. The sugar makes your lips tingle, and your head go fuzzy, and kissing Lexa kind of feels like that.

 

Clarke sinks into the soft press of lips, her hand dropping to grasp at Lexa’s shoulder, in a desperate need to ground herself.

 

But suddenly Lexa stiffens against her, and then she’s pulling away. When the brunette’s hands disappear from her cheeks, the cold air swoops in quickly, biting at the dried tear tracks.

 

Lexa’s eyes are wild as she moves away from the bed, her footsteps quick and trembling. Her cheeks are stained pink, and she’s panting slightly through her darkened lips. For a second, they just stare at each other, the room silent except for their heavy breathing.

 

“Lexa?” Clarke whispers, watching the other girl with wide, hopeful eyes. 

 

The brunette swallows heavily, then shakes her head, turning on her heel and disappearing out into the corridor with a heavy sigh.

 

//

 

“She just left?” Octavia raises her eyebrow, leaning forwards in her chair, “Just like that?”

 

“Just like that.” Clarke nods dejectedly, softly echoing the girl’s words while her gaze remains fixed on her fingers, as they pick at a loose thread on her blanket.

 

“But she kissed you back, right?” 

 

“Yes, Raven, she did.” Clarke sighs, finally looking up at her friends, “And then she _ran away_ , so I’m getting a few mixed signals here.” Raven frowns at this, tilting her head to the side.

 

“Look, Clarke,” Octavia reaches out and lays her hand on Clarke’s arm, stilling the blonde’s movements. “This all happened at like,” She breaks off, glancing at Raven, who shrugs, “Three in the morning, or whatever, after you had just woken up from some kind of nightmare. Lexa’s probably worried that you only kissed her because of the adrenaline rush, or the fear, or something.”

 

“But she kissed you back,” Raven continues, as Octavia takes a breath, “Which means _something_ , Clarke. The girl isn’t exactly a poster child for emotional stability; she was scared, so she ran.”

 

“Yeah, you just need to talk to her, Clarke,” Octavia smiles encouragingly at Clarke, moving her hand and rubbing the blonde’s shoulder comfortingly, “Tell her how you feel.”

 

Clarke just groans, closing her eyes and leaning back against her pillow.

 

 


	14. all we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're at the end of the journey
> 
> chapter title from 'drive' by halsey

Clarke’s hands tremble as she stares up at the wrought iron gates, so she clenches them, pressing closed fists against her thighs. The protective field - which stretches above the gates, encasing the entire castle - shimmers slightly in the midday sun, glinting green and pink and purple.

 

Her mother’s hand drops onto her shoulder and Clarke jerks away, rubbing at the spot awkwardly at the spot, “I’m fine, mum.” 

 

Abby purses her lips, dropping her eyes to her watch, “Professor Kane should be meeting us here shortly.” She turns to look at the blonde, reaching out and straightening the blonde’s green and silver striped tie.

 

Clarke shrugs her off.

 

“Don’t get into anymore trouble, Clarke,” She begins, taking a small step away from her daughter, “I don’t have time to clean up after any of your messes.” Abby looks over at the gate, smiling tightly at the approaching figure.

 

Clarke clenches her jaw, “Don’t worry mother, I know how much you hate being reminded of my existence.”

 

“Clarke,” Abby sighs, but then the gate is creaking open, and she simply shakes her head. “Send me an owl.”

 

“Why?” Clarke scoffs, then mutters, “Not like you’ll bother to read them.” 

 

The blonde turns away, striding briskly towards the gate. The Professor smiles encouragingly at her, and Clarke returns the sentiment with a slight - forced - quirk of her lips. Her head is pounding slightly, as though to remind her of what had happened here, almost a month ago. The gate swings shut with a sharp clang, which resonates inside her skull, and Clarke frowns, rubbing at her temple.

 

As they begin to trudge up the dirt path to the castle, Professor Kane tells her how glad he is that she has recovered completely, how he’s told her teachers to provide her with everything she need to be able to catch up - for a student of Clarke’s ‘capabilities’, he adds, it shouldn't be too difficult.

 

Clarke tunes him out, taking care to nod very so often, so as to appear involved in the conversation. It’s not so difficult for her to appear an active listener to someone who talks as much as Professor Kane does. It must have rained recently as the ground is damp, springy, just as it had been in the forest-

 

Clarke cuts her inner monologue off, huffing out a short, sharp breath. The professor pauses in his speech, glancing over at the blonde. She shakes her head, making a short quip about how long it’s been since she’s used her legs, and he nods, immediately diving back into his speech. 

 

Clarke looks away, wetting her lips as she takes in the forest surrounding the path. It isn’t a part of the forbidden forest; the trees here are tall and thin, their leaves trimmed to create a clear path for the carriages to the castle. The trees here have smooth bark, and the roots hide obediently beneath the forest floor. 

 

(This isn’t the forbidden forest.

 

It’s not.

 

So why are Clarke’s hands still shaking?)

 

Her lungs feel tight, they press hard against her ribcage, and Clarke quickens her pace. Her feet fall heavily against the ground, their uneven beat matching the pounding in her heart in her chest. The bridge over the river rises up into view, but it isn’t until Clarke is out in the open, until the trees have stopped towering up above her from all sides, that she finally slows down.

 

She glances backwards, and sees Professor Kane a few metres behind her. His cheeks are flushed red from the effort of trying to keep up with her, and his hair falls messily about his forehead, sticking to the skin.

 

Clarke turns back to look at the castle, breathing in deeply through her nose. The air here is fresh, full of grass, not heavy with the scent of death and misery, as it had been in St. Mungo’s. A smile tugs at Clarke’s lips, unbidden, as she steps onto the bridge, and it feels like coming home.

 

This castle, immense and old, full of tricks and friends and learning and happiness, has been the only constant in her life for the past six years, and the warmth of it settles deep in her chest. The journey to the Great Hall all blurs together, but it is a route she has walked enough to know by heart - along the bridge and through the courtyard, up the steps and into the entrance hall, and then a sharp right past the foot of the staircase and to the door.

 

The solid double doors are propped open, and the noise jumps at Clarke as soon as she steps inside the entrance hall. Layers of laughter and the clattering of cutlery against plates, the raised voices of people arguing over who gets what, and people asking their friends to pass this or that or the other. 

 

She steps into the Hall with Professor Kane on her heels. When she glances back at him, he nods, smiling encouragingly, and she takes off, weaving her way through the mass of bodies towards her friends. Bellamy spots her first, and he springs from his seat, a grin plastered to his lips as he rushes down the aisle and scooping her up into a tight hug. Clarke giggles as he spins her around, burying her face into his neck.

 

As soon as he places her down, she’s engulfed into another hug. Raven and Octavia have ducked in either side of her, and Clarke mumbles a fond greeting into the warmth of the embrace. Lincoln offers her a quick hug and a kind smile, and then they all settle back down onto the bench.

 

“I saved as much of the good stuff as I could,” Raven grins, gesturing at the full plate in front of the blonde, “Figured you need something to wash out the shit they serve you at that place.”

 

Clarke smiles gratefully, “Thanks Rae.”

 

“I know, I know, I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.” She responds, smirking.

 

This, of course, prompts both Octavia and Bellamy to loudly voice reasons why they should be Clarke’s best friend, and the blonde shoves Raven in the shoulder. The darker haired girl shrugs, before picking up her knife and fork and digging into the food on her plate. Clarke smiles at her, before turning back to her own meal.

 

(It’s good to be home.)

 

//

 

It’s not until after, once they’ve all eaten and the Headmaster is making an announcement - something about the third floor being temporarily off limits - that Clarke realises who’s missing. 

 

She leans closer to Raven and nudges her gently in the ribs, “Where’s Lexa?”

 

The darker haired girl chuckles under her breath, “Took you long enough, Princess.”

 

“Rae,” The blonde’s voice is low, practically drowned out by the scraping of the benches against the stone floors, but Raven understands from her facial expressions that she won’t appreciate any jokes. The brunette nods towards the entrance hall, and Clarke whips around, scanning the exiting crowd. She manages to catch a glimpse of dark braids just before the girl moves out of view, and turns quickly back to her friend. 

 

Raven nods at the blonde, mouthing ‘Go’ and making a shooing motion with one hand. Clarke smiles gratefully, then takes a deep breath, and pushes herself into the fray.

 

Leaving the Hall with the crowds has always been unappealing to Clarke; she hates the pushing and shoving and stifling heat that come with the current of bodies, all funnelling through a doorway barely wide enough to fit three people.  A toe collides with her ankle, and Clarke scowls, kicking forwards and bracing her hands on the backpack of the person in front of her. 

 

It takes a minute or so for Clarke to stumble through the doorway, and she darts off quickly to the left, taking a deep breath of the cooler air coming in from the courtyard. It’s a Sunday, so she knows that Lexa doesn’t have any lessons, and the head of braids had turned off to the left, meaning she wasn’t heading to the Library.

 

Clarke looks up at the portrait on the wall next to her. It depicts a stout, middle-aged man, clothed in a dark purple velvet suit, his tie a horrific shade of green. Clarke clears her throat, running her fingers through her fringe.

 

“Excuse me?” The man in the portrait jolts, and his fringe bounces as he turns to look at the blonde, “Ah, young lady, are you in search of assistance?”

 

Clarke swallows, “I was wondering if you had seen my friend come this way.” The man raises an eyebrow, “She a little bit taller than me, and her hair is braided, and she’s really-” Clarke coughs, “Yeah. She’s, uhm, really brunette?”

 

The man chuckles, a low rumbling sound, then nods, “I’ve seen a lady of that description. She went out through the courtyard.”

 

Clarke throws out a ‘Thank you’ over her shoulder as she rushes out through the main doors and over the cracked cobble towards the wooden bridge. She thinks she can guess where Lexa might be - at least, she _hopes_ she can.

 

//

 

~~_Anya,_ ~~

 

~~_I need you._ ~~

 

//

 

The grass is icy, the dew that had coated it earlier has frozen over, and it scrapes at Clarke’s shoes as she makes her way down the hill. The sun is a galleon in the sky, bathing the grass in gold, but the air is bitterly cold, biting harshly at the blonde’s exposed skin, so she shoves her hands into her pockets, hunching her shoulders. 

 

The grounds are almost entirely silent - most of the students opting to stay inside and keep warm by the fires in their respective common rooms, instead of braving the bitter weather conditions - the only sounds being that of the icy grass getting crushed under Clarke’s heavy strides, and the animals by the groundskeeper’s hut baying for attention.

 

//

 

~~_Anya,_ ~~

 

~~_I don’t know what to do._ ~~

 

~~_She kissed me and I ran, because I’m a coward, I’ve always been a coward-_ ~~

 

//

 

By the time Clarke catches sight of the stooped Willow tree, which hides the clearing from the view of the rest of the grounds, she’s shivering. Her nose is red, and the fingers of her right hand are clenched tightly around her wand inside her pocket - an attempt at stopping them from shaking.

 

//

 

~~_She was confused, she didn’t mean it._ ~~

 

~~_She can’t have meant it._ ~~

 

//

 

“Lexa!”

 

The brunette startles, spinning around quickly and staring at the approaching figure with wide eyes. Lexa’s jaw is clenched, her shoulders tense, as she regards the blonde. “Clarke,” She breathes, almost reverently. She draws the vowel out, as though savouring the word. 

 

(As though it’s the last time she’ll ever say it.

 

As though she’s stranded in a desert, parched, and it’s the last drop of water in her bottle.)

 

The blonde takes a step forwards, towards Lexa, whose breath catches in her throat, “Clarke, I’m-”

 

“Lavender,” Clarke interrupts, “For that shampoo you use, and paper, because you’re always in the Library, and grass, because of that time we went cloud gazing, and - Merlin - I even smell face paint, because of that Quidditch match we went to.”

 

“Clarke, what are you-”

 

“That’s what I smelled when we made the batch of Amortentia,” Clarke continues, cutting the brunette off again, then she chuckles awkwardly, “Raven thought I was an idiot, because it took me so long to work it out.”

 

The blonde hesitates, before finally closing the distance between them, moving forwards until she can feel Lexa’s short breaths ghosting over her cheeks.

 

“I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks, ever since I figured it out,” She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling a little. The blue in Clarke’s eyes is warm, and fond, and Lexa feels a little lightheaded.

 

Her hand drops to Lexa’s hip, her cold fingers moulding around the warmth they find there. The brunette closes her eyes for a moment, exhaling through her nose, and when she opens them again, they’re glazed over. 

 

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers, her green eyes are dark, hooded, as they flicker searchingly over the blonde’s face. She reaches up to cradle the blonde’s face, her thumbs stroking over Clarke’s cheekbones, and then they’re both leaning in.

 

This kiss isn’t like their first, which tasted a little of desperation and a lot like the tears that had dried onto Clarke’s lips.

 

This kiss is slow and sweet and tender and Clarke kind of feels like she might burst, or combust, or _something._ She can feel almost every inch of Lexa pressing into her. She can feel Lexa’s warmth seeping through the layers of clothing between them, and it feels a lot like everything she’s ever wanted.

 

And Clarke’s glad for Lexa’s hands cupping her face, because she feels like she’s still falling, and she’s spent too long wondering if Lexa was falling too, and if Lexa would catch her.

 

(And Lexa was, she has, and that’s all that matters really.)

 

So Clarke lets herself gets lost in this, because they both need it. They both need the reassurance, because the year has been too full of lost possibilities and mistakes, and - damn it - they could’ve been doing this months ago.

 

Lexa leans back, cheeks flushed. She’s breathing heavily, the air shooting from her swollen lips and warming Clarke’s lungs. 

 

She breathes in deeply, her eyes boring into Clarke’s blue ones, and the blonde fidgets slightly under the girl’s intense gaze. “So this isn’t-” Lexa pauses, wetting her lips. Her eyebrows are drawn together into a small, confused kind of frown, as though she doesn’t understand what Clarke is saying, “This isn’t just a spur of the moment thing? You like me?”

 

“Yes, Lexa,” Clarke smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling, “I like you. A lot.”

 

Lexa smiles then, the corners of her lips tipping upwards as her cheeks flush, and she exhales shakily before leaning forwards to rest her forehead against the blonde’s.

 

And in that moment, with Lexa’s breaths warming her cheeks, and the girl’s brunette hair tickling her skin, Clarke doesn’t think she would care if her mother never came around, because - here, with Lexa in her arms and the taste of forever on their lips - she feels unstoppable.

 

//

 

_She meant it._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh ill probs come back to this and write an epilogue or something but rn i just wanna mark it as complete because I'm gonna have like no time to write properly this year, and i don't wanna leave you hanging.
> 
> i wanna thank you all for sticking with this little fic and for dealing with me being an asshole (bc i know i am one). sad to see my bby go :(
> 
> much love to all the people who've left kudos, and who have commented because u all make me very happy <3

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed :) reviews keep me motivated/let me know when i am doing something right 
> 
> also, feel free to find me on tumblr @ indragram.tumblr.com


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